And The Story Continues
by WhiteLadyDragon
Summary: Yesterday may be history, but history has a way of repeating itself. Four years after the first Kira case, Kira's mark still lingers. When a disillusioned former pupil of L's with an appetite for destruction joins a wayward shinigami, a new battle of wits erupts, and Erin and friends once again find themselves caught in the middle. Sequel to "Story Of The Century."
1. Wayward

_**Disclaimer! **_**All fictional entities featured/ mentioned in this segment belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata; except Erin Blogger and a few extra characters not from the canon cast, who I made up for the purpose of this fan fiction. Any other unfamiliar names may be either other original characters or allusions to real-life people. **

**I know what most of you are probably thinking right now: oh man, when is this lunatic going to let go of her silly DN series and do something totally new? But, after writing this, I think that will be it. I can't promise anything (and I shouldn't, because nothing is written in stone except the names on tombstones), but it's leaning towards that way. **

**I know. Even I am awestruck by my own creativity!**

**This story is exactly what it says on the tin. It picks up where **_**Story of the Century **_**left off. Since the first story deviated from the canon storyline, this new arc is also going to be fairly different from the one we are familiar with, though it features many of the canon characters, old and "new" (new in the sense that they didn't appear in the first story but will get to here), with a few OCs; you'll know 'em when you see 'em. Another thing you folks are probably thinking: how is any DN fanfic, never mind this one, going to float with both L and Light gone? Like I said, I can't promise success, but I'm gonna give this the old college try. ****That is, when actual college isn't demanding my undivided attention. **

**All feedback is welcome with open arms! **

_**WARNINGS!**_** This story is not for children (though I must admit I don't have the means to make sure that no children see this). It contains pretty much everything that you would expect to see in Death Note as transcribed by a silly fangirl and amateur writer: violence, language, dark themes, themes in general, convoluted plot points, a few flashbacks here and there, some speculation and applied artistic license, callbacks to canon source material, et cetera, et cetera. This could even get darker than the first story, if you can believe it. It **_**might.**_** No promises. **

**As far as pairings go…for now I'll just say that there will be both opposite- and same-sex pairings, a little "sensuality" (if you know what I mean, jelly beans), and maybe some bestiality and necrophilia for good measure. Yep, I'm exploring new terrain here, that I am. **

**That get your attention? Ha-ha, nah, I'm kidding on that last bit. **

…**Or am I? **

**All right, enough chit-chat. Let's rock 'n' roll! **

_**AND THE STORY CONTINUES**_

_**1. Wayward**_

"Mello, Mello, I'm open!" Toby panted, waving his arms frantically over his head, his chubby face red as a beet with exertion and late November chill. "C'mon, pass the ball!"

Matt wasn't sure why Toby bothered, why anyone bothered. Mello didn't pass the ball, if he could help it. He passed it only when he deemed it strategically sound, and even when he did he would make a show about it and promptly steal the ball back if his teammate didn't reach the goal fast enough or looked like he was about to kick it from the wrong angle. A losing angle. In his mind, he might as well have been the star of the entire British football league, not some gangly fourteen-year-old swarming across the field behind the house with his fellow gangly fourteen-year-olds, with a few younger and older ones in the mix (with the exception of Toby, who was glaringly shorter and portly, "porky," as Mello affectionately called him).

If it weren't a rule that football was a team sport, Mello would play on his own, take on a complete team and vanquish them like a one-man army. Then again, he also needed people to show up and show off to. How could anyone look good when they had no one around to make look bad for comparison?

Mello had managed to dip and dive around the grabs made for him by the opposing team, huffing louder and looking flusher than any of them as his blonde locks flew wildly around his head like the mane of a lion on the chase. The biting autumn air and the exercise may not have had everything to do with the color swelling in his face. Dribbling the ball between his swift feet, he was that close to the goal where Scout stood guard, shuffling back and forth like a panicking crab. Rightfully so.

Matt expected him to go in for the kill. But like some predators, Mello liked to play with his prey sometimes. Most likely because it made him look and feel cooler. Matt couldn't see from his spot as the goal keeper on the opposite end, but he could imagine the wicked smirk cracking through his lips as he swung his bare, dirty foot back and smashed the stained and abused checkered ball, launching it about sixty degrees into the air where it would ricochet off of Toby's broad forehead like a pinball dinging off a target and scoring those last few precious points needed to beat the high score.

No sooner than when Toby plummeted face-first into the crunchy, browning grass did Mello stampede around him to retrieve the ball, taking full advantage of the distraction he had created and sending it sailing over Scout's outstretched fingers and bouncing into the loose, tattered net.

"Bloody hell, Mello!"

"What was that for?"

"You've really done it now, Mello," Toby snapped as two of his teammates dragged him back onto his feet. "Y-you did that on purpose!"

Mello ran a hand through his sweaty locks, looking quite pleased. As smug as a cat that had just caught and devoured a mouse. "You asked me to pass you the ball. I was just honoring your request," he laughed.

Honestly, at this point it seemed that the only reason Mello was allowed to continue playing the game was because he was one of the best players in the House, despite his poor sportsmanship. That, and Mello never took no for an answer. Matt personally found sports, anything having to do with strenuous activity and/or being outdoors, to be about as enjoyable as walking around with poison ivy stuck on his private parts. He was out here because Mello liked being out here. Someone had to mind him.

And he was no vampire like Near by any means.

Besides, he didn't have to do much of anything beyond watching. When they played, he made sure to be on the same team as Mello, and was always the goal keeper. With Mello's skills and thirst for the hot spotlight which kept the ball well on the other side, he didn't have to concentrate too much on minding the net. He could just stand there, as Mello politely put it, "with his thumb in his bum." Sometimes he'd even take advantage of his "loneliness" by finishing a game level on his new Nintendo DS Lite™.

Exhausted, cold, dirty and most in less than stellar spirits, the kids decided to call it a game and began their way back towards the House for warmth and Ms. Berkeley's hot cocoa. Toby, still seething from the humiliation he'd suffered on the field, made the mistake of charging up behind Mello and pounding him in the back with his small chunky fists.

Mello, not the type to turn the other cheek, retaliated by whirling around and grabbing the younger boy by a fistful of his short red hair, dragging him along like a shamed dog by its collar. "You think you can pick a fight with_ me? _A porky runt like you? After I just whooped you like that in front of everyone?" he taunted.

"Hey, come on," Matt chided as they crossed the threshold. "Haven't you kicked him around enough?"

No one noticed Roger watching them from overhead beyond the wall-length window of his office, the semi-frosty mist of impending winter blurring his reflection in the glass. His mind was blurred with a cold snap of apprehension as his cell phone dangled loose in his hands, a messenger who had brought to him the news in but three impersonal words. Three words he had dreaded to see blink onto that screen for the longest time.

It's amazing, how something as small as two or three words could turn one's whole world upside down in an instant. Like a leaf falling off the tree in front of his office, yellow and withered, gliding innocuously on the breeze before landing in the bird fountain, not yet frozen over, shaking the water with ripples that stretched all the way to the edges.

Then again, most of their lives had never quite been right side-up to begin with, had they?

Roger turned to glimpse at the man smiling back at him in the picture underneath the windowpane. A warm and peaceful smile lifted the jowls hanging off of his mastiff-like face, tempered with a strange aura of sadness that only the few who had been close to him were aware of, like Roger.

_Oh, Quillish…we both knew that this day would come eventually. You both had planned for it, including what I must do. _

_So why don't I feel prepared at all…? _

He took a deep breath, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his large, pointed nose. Quillish did not visit often, so it wasn't unusual for him to be unheard from for months at a time, and when he did pay a visit, they tended to be brief but well-received by the children, who had considered him "the nice old guy who owns our school." As far as he knew, none of them knew that along with his known accomplishments as an inventor and philanthropist, he was also the mysterious Watari who worked under L. He had had his funeral service just a few weeks prior, having been sent back home as he would have wanted. It had been a sad event for the children, needless to say, to the extent that their acquaintance to him allowed. They were moving on the best they could. Quillish would've been pleased to see them do so; it was something that many of them were coming to learn and accept, if they hadn't already.

But the one who had done Quillish this favor never came back. He had told Roger not to expect him to, to say only what was necessary and only when the time came.

And now that it'd been confirmed that _he _was also gone, Roger knew that he could not hide this anymore. It was his duty to tell them. After all, one of them was supposed to step in, in case something like this should happen. A thirteen- and barely fifteen-year-old.

How were the two going to take this?

Gathering as much resolve as he could find, Roger pocketed his phone, left his office and stepped out into the hallway. His gut already tying itself into knots, he waited for the rambunctious mass to parade past him, his dark cobblestone-grey eyes scanning the bobbing heads for one in particular. He found him struggling against the wall with Toby in his fist by his hair, easy to spot with his long blonde hair and stark black clothes against the sea of color. Matt was squeezing himself between the two, trying to break the boys apart, telling Mello to cut it out. He too was easy to spot by the orange-tinted goggles buried in his mop of auburn hair and favorite striped shirt.

Sidling his way along the wall, largely unacknowledged (as usual), he reached out to break Mello's hold on Toby, wrapping his thin wrist in his gnarled, arthritic fingers. The same old routine.

Mello blinked up at him, almost as though he hadn't been bullying someone just moments ago. "Huh? Roger?"

"Mello, I need to see you in my office," said Roger, his voice soft and low.

Matt threw Mello a look that said, _See? I told you to cut it out. Now you're busted, _again.

Toby, nursing the top of his head, sputtered, "Ha! You're in hot water now! Serves you right for being mean to me!" He scampered off to join the crowd before he could hear Mello's comeback:

"I only pick on you because you ask for it! Run away like the worm that you are!"

Roger gazed wearily at the boy. It was still hard to believe that a child like him would even be considered for this. But then, he wasn't the one who'd picked. "Mello, please. Worms don't run. Matt, you can go. I don't need to see you."

"Yes, sir. Later, Mello." Matt couldn't explain why exactly, but something about the way Roger sounded felt funny to him. Gave him a vague twitch in his bones. Not the "ha-ha" kind of funny. Funny as in something bad had happened, or was about to. Something worse than Mello getting lectured—once again—on picking on less capable children.

But he said nothing about it. Maybe he was just still feeling the effects of the cold, and itching to go back to his beloved DS? Besides, Roger had always sounded rather burned out. Running a house full of kids, smart and temperamental kids like Mello, at that? The old man should consider retiring with his bugs. He took off, expecting to see Mello in their shared room when this was over, wearing his most petulant scowl.

Roger was still holding Mello's wrist as he glanced into the room next to his office. Whereas Mello usually had to be chased down all over the place, he didn't have to look far when he needed Near. Near could be found almost invariably in that room, fiddling quietly with a few toys or puzzles that lay scattered around him, almost as though he were putting up a barrier against the world outside. His wrinkled pajamas as pure and white as the tiles he sat on, he seemed to blend in to the floor, distinguished only by his hunched shape and mane of bleach-blonde hair that hung over his face, shielding his blank, steel-grey eyes so he could focus on the puzzle in his hands.

Linda peeked into the room, brushing her bangs out of her face. Under her arm she clutched a sketchpad. "There you are! Why don't you come outside, Near? The weather's lovely today. It won't be like this forever, you know."

"Oh, leave him be, Lin," said Quincy. "He won't go outside, no matter what. He's in his own world."

Near, not the type to waste words, muttered, "No, thank you." He didn't even look her way.

With Roger, he had less of a choice. "Near, can I see you in my office?"

Mello paused. Why would Near, that big-headed twit, have to be in his office too, if Roger was just going to chew off his ears for rough-housing with Toby?

Unless…this wasn't about that, at all. Maybe Near had squealed about his latest transgression against him just two days ago? He never put up a fight himself (as much as Mello wanted him to, if only so he could _really _humiliate him in front of everyone). He just stared with the stupidest expression on his face, almost like a sheep, act like it didn't happen, only to go to Roger behind his back just when Mello had started to forget about it.

Not bothering to ask why, Near grunted, "All right." He took his sweet time gathering his blank puzzle together, placing on top all of the pieces he had yet to put in place, never mind to stand up on his bare feet.

_What weak legs_, Mello thought wryly, watching the way Near wobbled a bit on his way. _It's like he's got polio or something. He could never play football. At least I'm better than him in that respect. _

Soon the two of them were in Roger's office. Somehow the room looked drearier than usual, the crisp afternoon sunlight pouring through the windows as the only source of light. Roger sat at his desk, clasping his hands in front of him as he tried to come up with how he was going to say this. Near had plopped down onto the rug and already resumed clicking puzzle pieces into place, while Mello stood as straight and tall as he could, his sharp, ice-blue eyes drilling holes into Roger's receding hairline.

"So what is it, Roger?" he asked impatiently. "What'd you have to see us for?"

The silence between them was so thick, any of them could probably slice through it, like frozen custard.

Roger sighed, keeping his eyes trained on his notes. There was no way to approach this except to get straight to the point. He couldn't bear to see the looks on their faces. He may as well have tossed a grenade into Mello's open mouth when he answered:

"L is dead."

…

…

…

"What was that?"

…

"_Roger, _what did you just say?" Mello demanded, fighting to keep from shouting but at the same time wanting so very much to do just that. Had he heard that right? _He's dead? _Roger couldn't possibly mean—

"I'm afraid L is dead. I'm sorry." The old man's apology came out softer, weaker, more hesitantly than his announcement.

Mello's voice had already developed a natural crack in it due to puberty, a fact that he had been initially ashamed of but never admitted to. The way it was cracking now, however, Roger knew that puberty had nothing do with it. It suddenly became louder, sharper.

"H—he's _dead? _L is dead? But—but _how?_"

L was invincible. He couldn't just _die_, like any other human being. This had to be a joke, something Roger had come up with to get back at him somehow. "Scare 'em straight," as they say.

No. Would Roger do something that mean-spirited? It wasn't likely. And why would he be telling this to Near, as well? Near was no trouble-maker. Not like Mello, anyway.

Near's only response to the news was the soft, unwavering click of puzzle pieces fitting into each other. Had he heard Roger's words, never mind cared for their meaning, he didn't make this apparent. Not that Mello expected him to.

He gasped, remembering something. _Oh no. _

"Was it _Kira?_ Did Kira kill him? Come on Roger, you've got to tell me!"

"Probably."

Mello lunged across the desk, grabbing a bewildered Roger by his bony shoulders. His eyes suddenly became wide and feral with shock and denial. "But he promised that he would find Kira and execute him! And now you're telling me that he's been _killed?_"

"M-Mello!" Roger trembled in Mello's vice-like grip, having no idea what else to say, calling out the boy's name in hopes that he'd calm down and let him go.

Both of them were cut off by the sound of a thousand puzzle pieces tumbling to the floor. They turned to find Near with the empty board held over his head. He still wouldn't acknowledge them with his eyes.

"If you can't win the game, if you can't solve the puzzle…then you're just a loser," he said, his voice small and smooth, lifeless. "Kinda girly," as Mello and Matt would snark amongst themselves. He proceeded to put his puzzle back together, starting in the upper right corner and working his way across. Automatically, like a robot.

Mello held back a snarl. _That_ was all Near was going to say about this? That L was a loser? Of course, he had never been nearly as close to L as Mello was. To Near, L was just a model, but to him, he was a mentor. If what Roger was telling them was true, that he had in fact died, then technically yes, he had lost. Lost to Kira. But…

Mello turned back to Roger, his hand balling up into a shaky fist on his desk. "So. Which of us did he pick, me or Near?" That burning question, one that had plagued him ever since he had been told in secret that he was being considered to succeed L. The reason Roger would even tell them this to begin with. No one knew about this plan except the three in this office, and to a lesser extent, Matt who had gone upstairs, who wanted little to do with any of it. So it had been ever since the incidents with the first generation of successors (_Something that I would know since L told me himself_, Mello would think, usually bursting with pride).

Roger couldn't look Mello in the eye, knowing that he wasn't going to like his next answer any more than he had, his previous ones. He wasn't so sure about Near, but Mello…

He peered up into his bushy eyebrows. "He hadn't chosen, yet. And now that he's gone, I'm afraid he won't be able to."

…

For the first time in a long one, Mello didn't know what to say. L had never made his decision? Why? L might have been nigh invulnerable, but he also was the type to plan ahead. He would've picked his successor a long time ago, wouldn't he? As soon as he'd had his candidates. Not only had he not picked him, but he hadn't picked Near either, who had always been ahead of him on the roster?

This made no sense. L wasn't supposed to not make sense.

"Mello, listen. You too, Near. Can't the two of you…work together?"

Mello felt as though something was squeezing the air out of him. How dare Roger make a suggestion like that? Trying to deflect the problem onto the two of them. Well, it wasn't his job to choose the next L, only to groom those who had the potential, and Mello and Near were supposed to be problem-solvers. But this…

"All right. Sounds good," Near said flatly. Mello thought otherwise.

"It would never work, Roger!" he hissed. "We can't do this together. You know I don't get along with Near. We've always competed against each other. _Always._"

_And I've always been number two. No matter how hard I try…_

Outside, the wind howled softly against the window as it picked up. Out of the corner of his eye, Mello could see the last leaf on the tree, no longer able to hold on, snap off of the branch, soaring away on the breeze out of sight.

He imagined himself as that leaf. This house was the tree; it couldn't hold onto him. Nothing lasted forever. Sooner or later, he'd have to move on and leave this place. That should've been clear to him years ago, but now it had never been more so.

Mello broke the tense silence. "You know what? It's fine," he announced, trying to keep his voice as even as possible. The last thing he needed was to degrade himself in front of these fools with a tantrum.

Roger looked up, a blend of surprise and anxiety washing over his face.

"Near should be the one to succeed L. He's not like me. He never gets emotional. He just uses his head, like it's a game or a puzzle."

As he spoke, Near clicked the final piece in place, pausing to stare at the image before him. White space, filled only with a small black letter in the upper left corner. Bold and defiant, but unreachable.

**L**

"And as for me, I'm leaving this institution."

He was already heading for the door when Roger sprang up from his chair. Was it going to happen again? Would Mello snap and pull off the same stunt that B had?

"Wait! Mello—"

"Don't waste your breath," he snorted. "I'm almost fifteen. It's time that I started living my own life."

Not once did he look back as he slammed the mahogany door behind him, his temper finally starting to leak out of his hands. Near listened to his stomping footsteps until they became softer and then disappeared completely, locking his gaze straight ahead the entire time. All the same, he noted Roger's distress.

"Let him go, Roger."

"Let him go? I can't do that! He may be one of the smartest students in the House, but he's still a boy. Do you understand, Near?"

"You underestimate him. By the way you're telling me this, it seems you underestimate me as well. You've been trying to rein him in for as long as he's been here, but you never could, could you? Mello will survive on his own. I doubt he'd do anything to compromise Wammy's House in any way without making trouble for himself."

Roger groaned. "Don't tell me you're planning on leaving, too."

Near's voice gained a slight, almost unnoticeable edge to it. Roger didn't see his hands clench inside his too-long pajama sleeves, or his pale toes curl. "I will have to eventually, now that I'm the new L. You can start bringing me cases, but I think I'll wait two more years before I start globe-trotting. Fifteen seems to be a reasonable age to break off from home."

…

He wouldn't return to Wammy's House no matter what; he didn't count on whatever answers he would find changing that. He'd look like an utter fool after making such a promise and then going back on it.

But something didn't add up. Mello would not rest until he knew for sure. What had happened to L? Why hadn't he chosen either of them? Kira killed him, that's what Roger had said.

What if there was more to it than that? Here he sat in this cramped cubicle next to Matt in an internet café they'd come across in town. Today was November 30th. Two days ago, Roger had dropped the bombshell that rocked Mello's world.

Matt needed the practice, anyway. He needed to test his new program, see if it could successfully hack into a database without leaving a trace. Surely L would have sent Roger something pertaining to the Kira case, a file with his findings? He wished that Mello wouldn't sit so close to him; his breathing down his neck (heated and moist on his bare sensitive skin) made it harder to concentrate.

"I think all that chocolate's giving you halitosis or something," grumbled Matt. "Would it kill you to brush your teeth a little more?"

"Shut up and get me those files," Mello shot back before ripping a chunk off his unwrapped chocolate bar like a lion tearing apart flesh from a carcass, his teeth bared. As he run his tongue across the piece, savoring the smooth rich flavor, a thought came to his mind. A memory. Before L, Mello had loved chocolate as much as the next guy, and then some. L had been nibbling a chocolate bar the first—and only—time they saw each other. Classic milk chocolate, he could still remember. He had been gracious enough to share it with him. Him, a lowly student. He never told Mello who he was outright, but Mello _knew. _The things he spoke about, the way he seemed to look into his soul as he spoke, only L could look, think and speak that way. Somehow the chocolate tasted that much sweeter when L broke off a piece to offer him. It was like receiving communion for the first time, accepting the bread as the body of Christ.

Was it blasphemous to make such a comparison? Maybe, but God had screwed him over too many times for him to keep in touch. Nothing anyone did was good enough for God, whoever (or whatever) that was. With L…it was different. He must have considered him of at least _some _worth to go out of his way to see him when he could have been solving another case. Bringing another criminal to justice.

Since then, Mello had found himself drawn to the stuff a lot more. Eating it was his way of staying close to a man he so dearly admired.

Finally, Matt was in. Secretly, he was a bit apprehensive of what they would find, if anything. Mello worshipped L, more than what would be considered healthy. In fact, Matt had poked fun at him for this once or twice, asking if he had a crush on him or something, and both times Mello's response was blistering, as always.

Crushing on someone who'd had to be at least twice his age, the same way a teenage girl was sweet on a young teacher. How stupid! Not to mention, they had never met the guy. No one in the world knew what he looked like. For some reason, Matt pictured him as less than ideal in the looks department. Though himself a far cry from a health nut, even he understood that someone with that kind of job couldn't be the picture of fitness.

He would smirk to himself. _Maybe that's the other reason he doesn't show his face? _

But it had all been in good fun before.

He wasn't happy about L's death either, make no mistake. But at the same time he wasn't broken up about it, not like Mello was. It was hard to really mourn someone you didn't know anyway. When the news got back to him, the pang of sadness accompanying it was dull and detached, as he might feel when reading a stranger's obituary.

A few clicks, and a window popped up.

Just before this had all happened, now and then Matt would look at Mello, observe his intense devotion to this anonymity that they were somehow expected to emulate, and a twinge of _something _would pass through him. Was it jealousy? It was stupid to be jealous of someone they'd never met, who would never in a trillion years be interested in Mello in any way except as an heir to the title. Matt knew this. Still, he couldn't find another name for the feeling. Except maybe annoyance, but sometimes it felt a little too strong to be just that.

"What is it? What did you find?" Mello sputtered, shoving Matt against the wall.

"Hey!"

Mello was becoming desperate, if he hadn't been already. When was the last Kira-related murder? It'd been weeks since any fresh deaths of criminals had been mentioned on the news, from Japan which that L had deduced to be the center for Kira's activity about a year ago (rather epically, Mello had thought at the time when word had gotten out), or elsewhere.

His mind hummed with many questions, more than perhaps the average person could process at once.

"Matt, while you're at it, I want you to look up Quillish Wammy!"

"Hold on, will ya? I can do one thing at a time."

"Bullshit! I've seen the way you multitask!"

It was all up in front of them. Quillish Wammy, the founder of their humble House, had passed away on November 5th, at the ripe old age of 71. In Tokyo. Heart attack. His body was shipped back to his hometown in Winchester, almost fifty kilometers (about thirty-one miles) from their House, where he was now buried.

The boys looked at each other. Roger had neglected to tell them this little detail. "What was Mr. Wammy doing in Japan? Promoting a new product? And how could he have…last we saw him, he looked pretty healthy for an old geezer."

"No," Mello whispered, going numb with realization. "He was working with L. Mr. Wammy is Watari…or _was._" Roger hadn't told him this, either. Neither had Quillish. But then, in hindsight, how could Mello not have pieced it together before? Had he been so absorbed with L that he had all but forgotten the man who answered to him, was his face for the world? His hands, his eyes, his shield?

Now he was gone. Smited by Kira for the crime of association. They had taken the old man for granted and would never see him again.

_The following is the record which contains everything I have investigated on the Kira incident. The fact that you are now reading this message means I am no longer alive at this moment. _

_I hereby leave this record as my firm achievement. _

"No longer alive at this moment." Like he was only temporarily not alive. In an ideal world, that would be the case. L wasn't human; he was a machine that _might_ get a blue screen now and then at worst, but just had to reboot to get back on track.

Matt cringed inside at the thought. He liked computers, but something about that was freaky, even for him.

The prime suspects were high school/ college student Light Yagami and rising model Misa Amane. According to this, L had zoomed in on them fairly quickly. The problem was proving their guilt. There had been a third Kira, Kyosuke Higuchi of the Yotsuba Group, but he'd turned out to be a red herring. He'd died on the spot just after they arrested him, and just days after the fact, the rest of the Group suffered mysterious deaths, as well.

"Was he high or something when he typed this?" he asked. "How can a _notebook _kill someone just by writing their name in it while you think about their face?"

"No. He wouldn't make up something like that. The killer notebook…the Death Note…this was the source of Kira's power. It explains his M.O. perfectly. Gods of death…_shinigami_…they do exist."

What if they were the only gods that existed? What benevolent god would allow things like the Death Note to exist?

"L must've found the notebooks. He was working alongside Yagami. His prime suspect."

A few rules had been found in the notebooks, put there almost as if to set up a convenient alibi for Yagami and Amane. _The user of this notebook must write at least one name every 13 days, or else they die. _

That rule almost let the culprits slip away. The only one in the task force willing to test the rule was L.

_I knew from the beginning when I took this case that I ran the risk of being killed. I am personally not happy with the decisions I have made, but had I not taken the actions that I did, Kira might have wiped out all of us. _

…

"What?"

The demand flew from Mello's lips as soft and effortlessly as a single breath. Matt refused to look back at him. He didn't want to see his face, at that moment.

_He couldn't entrust me or Near with the case? Didn't he think we could do it? But…we've been trained for most of our lives to take on cases like the kind L tackled. Does this mean…that neither of us is worthy of being L, after all? _

"Do you think Kira killed him by writing in the Death Note that he'd kill himself?" asked Matt.

"H-he'd have to have gotten his name to do that."

"Well, if what he said about these 'Shinigami Eyes' is true, then the Second Kira could've found out his name and told Kira. Or she would've killed him herself."

"Maybe. But…the way the dates are laid out. Something happened to Kira before something happened to L, or at least something happened to them both at about the same time. It doesn't make sense for Kira to kill L, and then he stops killing altogether."

"Unless the Kiras had a change of heart," Matt scoffed, aware of how likely that scenario was. Mello scowled in response.

The further they rolled down, the more unraveled Mello became inside. Matt could tell this because of the way Mello's breath grew shorter, more ragged. He was winding his rosary so tightly around his fingers, they looked ready to pop. But it was too late to turn back now.

"Mello. It says here that the killings stopped two days before Mr. Wammy died."

How was it that it had taken them so long to learn about L's death when the killings had stopped cold some weeks before? The last known criminal to have had a heart attack died November 3rd.

But, news about Kira-related deaths continued for two more days. November 5th. The day Wammy—Watari—died.

L had set up a trap. Somehow he must've seen through their plan to smuggle another notebook under his nose, stolen it, and switched it with a replica. Then he'd sold fake stories to the news people to make it look like Kira was still killing. He'd baited the two Kiras into exposing themselves.

…

Then why hadn't there been a public announcement about Kira's capture?

"Says that Light Yagami died right after he was exposed. November 5th. 'Under unforeseeable circumstances.' Does he mean like how Higuchi died? The Second Kira Misa lived though. She had her memory wiped so she couldn't be prosecuted, not without having to disclose the notebook's existence. Says that might've had to do with the fact that he burned both notebooks after all this happened. Talk about getting away with murder."

…

…

"That's it."

"What?"

"That's it, Matt. How could L have known what had happened to Kira if he had died before him? He…he must've used his power against him."

"What d'ya mean, like he wrote Light Yagami's name in the Death Note and manipulated his actions so he'd act the way he did and incriminate himself before dying?"

As monstrous as that idea sounded, it wasn't impossible. The only thing that challenged that theory was the fact that the Second Kira had been spared. He would've done this to both of them, wouldn't he?

Mello's answer came out hoarse, the circulation draining out of his fists, the tighter he clenched them. The chocolate snapped into useless chunks dropping at his feet.

"He used the Death Note on _himself. _Gave himself immunity to Kira's Death Note. Bought himself some time."

L, the Great Detective, had committed a mortal sin for the sake of solving the case of the century. Suicide. The act of rejecting life itself. Only the weak and spineless would resort to such a thing. A had done the same thing when he'd cracked under the pressure. B had attempted it, though for different reasons, and had been thwarted. At least physically. Psychologically, he was an overcooked shell up until he'd died in prison.

But never had he expected _L_ of all people…

Matt wanted to feel proud of himself. He knew he didn't have what it took to be a detective, never mind a super-detective like L, nor did he want to try that path. But if they weren't supposed to see this file, L must've put as many locks on it as was possible. He, an amateur, after almost two hours, sore fingers and a stiff neck, had managed to crack all the codes.

But accomplishment was the last thing he felt, right now. It didn't change the fact that L had had them believing that he was still fighting Kira, when in actuality, he was dying. He had strung them all along. He still hadn't named a successor at the end of it all. Had that been deliberate?

Hadn't he considered that eventually they'd need to know and would find out one way or another?

Had he cared enough about them to even think of it?

He'd created this record to be read after he'd passed on. The dead didn't have to answer for anything. L had chosen the coward's way out. L, a coward. Was it possible to put those words together in a sentence?

Suddenly the stories he'd told him, about B and A and Los Angeles took on a whole new meaning.

"Mello…?"

Mello sat quiet. Like a volcano just moments before it erupted.

_Firm achievement, my fucking ass. _

Then the sugar found its way against the wall, snowing down on them in a cascade of glass and sweet sand. Matt shielded his face, seeing Mello's legs spring up and storm out of the cubicle from underneath his arm.

Looking for something else to toss, Mello's destructive gaze turned to the dull red rosary that he had intertwined between his fingers, cutting into his flesh. The tiny cross swayed to and fro like the pendulum in the old grandfather clock back home. Why did he still carry this old thing around? Because _he _had given it to him? It would "protect him in times of adversity?" It burned in his hands every time he held it, the same way his mouth burned with the sickly-sweet aftertaste of chocolate. The same way his mind burned.

Why couldn't he just get rid of it already?

Snarling to himself, he undid the tangles of beads and jammed the rattling jewelry deep within his coat pocket.

Matt tried to go after him but didn't make it past the threshold. "Hey c'mon, Mello! You're blowing this out of proportion," he barked, trying not to make too much of a scene, but judging by the looks many were giving them, failing at it. "So he turned out to be a selfish asshole—so what if—"

Never before had Mello's eyes bulged so far out with fury. It was like he was trying to blow Matt's brains out just by glaring at him. His words, his breath singed his cheeks like fire. "Save it. I'm done. I don't want anything more to do with him, or Near, or any of them."

Matt froze. _Even me? After everything? Just like that?_

"The hell are you gonna go, huh?"

"Like I told Roger, to start living my own life. Don't try to follow me."

"But Mell—"

"_I said don't follow me!" _

Mello had pitched tantrums like this many times over the years, none of them worth taking that seriously. But this time Matt could hear a distinct malevolence in his voice, one that couldn't be so easily brushed aside. Like he was threatening his physical well-being if he took so much as one step after him.

Who would have thought that he'd be talking like this to the closest thing he'd had to a friend in a long time?

_All this time I've been following a false idol. I invested everything in him. Now…he's abandoned us. He's abandoned _me_. I just can't stay anymore. _

"So you think walking out yourself will make things right?"

Mello's head rattled, as though trying to come up with a strong enough argument that would justify his point. Instead, he gave a snort, turned on his leather heels, and stormed towards the exit. With the soft tinkle of a bell, he disappeared into the bone-white light of the autumn sun.

The already strong smell of cleaners almost became too much to bear. It made Matt dizzy and it pounded on his temples, almost like the scent of a fresh bottle of glue. That was what this whole experience was, like that time he'd tried huffing just to see what the fuss was about. After getting whacked with the mother of all headaches (from both the comedown and Roger's ear-chewing), he hadn't done it again since. There were plenty other things to experiment with.

Somehow, this headache managed to be worse than that. He sure could use something to take off this edge, right now. But what?

Trying to save whatever face he'd had left, Matt went back into the cubicle, ignoring the confused and bewildered stares and mutterings.

"Goddammit, Mello."

A strong word for someone who was barely fourteen. But no other word he could think of seemed strong enough. He rested his forehead against his knuckles, shaking his head. This was just another tantrum. His worst one to date, for sure, but a tantrum all the same. In a few days, Mello would cool off and come back, act like this never happened. Like he always did.

Right?

He knew he wouldn't get an answer, but he had to ask anyway. He plopped back into his chair, fixing his sleepy dark blue eyes on the words on the screen.

"Damn. How could you do this to him?"

…

"What was that? You actually want to meet him?" scoffed Deridovely, a big-lipped, eyeless mummy-like creature wrapped in bandages.

"That's right."

"Why waste your time talking to _him?_" sneered Zellogi, waving his rusted hook for a left paw, the feathers in his headdress rustling like catty words of gossip.

Gukku, a hairy shinigami with a goat's skull for a head, chimed in, "Yeah, it's not like he'll tell ya anything interesting."

"Forget it! It's pointless!"

"Shuddup and answer my question!" Lumen pulled out from behind him a weapon that resembled a _zanbatō _but was made up entirely of bone, like its wielder. He slammed it into the sand, rock and bone that made up the ground on which they sat, its mighty thump against a boulder echoing across the dark, endless plain as the only sound for immeasurable miles.

"I know he's around here somewhere," he growled, his fierce eyes burning from deep within his sockets, almost as brightly as the gems embedded in his goggles, as red as the band wrapped around his skull. "I wanna talk to this shinigami. I heard he had some fun in the human world."

The three, surprised and somewhat amused by his determination, conceded and pointed him to the far east, where there sat a cave that overlooked a valley of rusted chains and giant bones protruding from the ground like ribs from a half-buried decomposed creature. What did they have to lose? They even told him to make sure to bring an offering ("If you don't give him one of those, he won't bother with ya").

Lumen climbed up the crumbling steps in his lumbering way to find Ryuk perched over the edge of the cliff at the top of them, peering out at the empty gloom that stretched out below him. As soon as he heard the stranger approach, he turned his head, his blue lips still frozen in a grin, as though still replaying in his mind the great adventure he'd had in the other world. The living world.

The two stared each other down for what could have been eternity, if either of them could wait that long. "Who are you?"

"Call me Lumen. I've been looking for you. I wanna hear your story."

"Story?"

"I'll make it worth your while," he promised. He tossed an object straight on at Ryuk's blanched, mask-like face. Ryuk's reflexes were just as swift, and he caught it in his giant paw. His round, bulging red eyes gleamed with interest when he looked over the gift. An apple. An apple of course from this world, skinny and brown and wrinkled and that hung off the tall black things that resembled dead trees from the other world.

When was the last time someone had tossed him an apple? For that matter, when was the last time someone had been so brazen with him?

This new guy, Lumen…he just showed up one day and had been wandering all over ever since, too restless to nap or gamble like the others. Naturally, he was looked down on for it. What was the point to his wandering? Was he searching for something? There was nothing to be found here.

Maybe that was why Lumen had sought him out?

Ryuk chuckled. "I would've liked one that's a little more juicy, but oh well. It'll hafta do." Pinching the fruit by its short crooked stem, he dropped it into his cavernous mouth and took his time chewing it, his sharp teeth gnashing the dry fruit between them as though he were chewing on sand. No, this didn't hold a candle to the plump, juicy blood-red apples from the other world.

"I wanna go down to the human world," Lumen declared, a devious lilt in his words. "I'm sick of this place, it's so _boring! _I've heard that the human world is a lot more interesting."

Ryuk swallowed. He couldn't stop smiling. Where had he heard this before? Where before had he seen that otherworldly grin, so large that it literally split his face well up to where the ears would be if he had them? "Well, it's no use complaining about how boring it is here. Now, if you were thinking of doing something stupid, like changing the human world…_that _would be something."

He tossed his head. "Huh…I was getting bored, anyway. I'll humor you. Take it as my appreciation for giving me that _lousy_ apple. I'll tell you the story of a human I once knew, just a couple years ago in fact, if you go by the human calendar. One who tried to change the world and become God."

Lumen perked up, prepared to give Ryuk his undivided attention, however much he had. Thus Ryuk launched into an epic, laughing or shaking his head now and then as he gave words to every memory that flashed before his eyes as fresh as the moments in which they'd happened.

Light Yagami had everything that any human could want: good looks, charm, intelligence, talent, wealth, a loving family, friends and most importantly a future. He was perfect in every way…so it'd seem on the surface.

But none of this was enough for Light. He may have been perfect, but the world around him was far from it. In fact, in his eyes it was rotten, almost as rotten as Ryuk and now Lumen saw their own world. But what could he do about it? He still had to go through college before he could so much as step onto the police force as an equal. He was slowly sinking into a pit of despair behind a mask of complacency.

Then he found that black notebook lying inexplicably out in the open in the schoolyard, courtesy of Ryuk, who had decided to make a different kind of gamble in hopes that something neat would happen. "I wrote all the instructions in the cover in English, since that's supposed to be the most popular language of the human world. I didn't really mean to drop it in that particular place. In fact, I think I had my eyes shut when I did it," he joked.

"How can you shut your eyes? Shinigami don't have lids over their eyes," said Lumen. "They sleep, but they don't have eyelids. Humans have them, though."

"Oh, yeah. Well, what I mean to say is I didn't look. I thought it'd be more fun to surprise myself, and besides I didn't have to. Whoever picks up a dropped notebook becomes its owner. That makes a sort of connection between him or her and a shinigami. I waited for a few days, and then used that binding whatever to find the kid."

By the time he had found him, Light had already filled out at least five pages with the names of the worst criminals, people who he thought were making the world rotten. If he at all had felt so much as a twinge of horror over the reality of the Death Note's power, Ryuk had missed that part (unfortunately), and when they had met, he had clearly gotten over it. Thanking Ryuk for introducing this power to him, he announced that he would now use this newfound power to change the world. The worst of humans would be punished for their sins, the pure at heart could live without fear, and those who even thought about doing wrong would think twice.

The world would be better, and at the top of it all Light would reign over as its god.

Ryuk paused to scoff. "Y'know, looking back, sometimes I wonder how much of that he really meant. He couldn't have known off the bat that the notebook was real; he had to try it first. A perfect guy like him, straight as an arrow, goes and kills a couple folks…I don't think he could handle that. He even told me, me of all people, when we met that the Death Note _makes _someone wanna use it.

"I dunno how true _that_ is, but what a panic, to think that one human would try to change the entire world only so he can justify his own crimes. Or maybe he really did just care enough about his world to want to change it for the better? Who knows? You can never quite tell with humans. It's one of those things that make them interesting. At any rate, he introduced me to apples, so that's something."

It didn't take long for Light to start catching the world's attention through his actions. They started calling him "Kira," the Japanese pronunciation of the English word "Killer." Many praised him for his protecting the weak and bringing many crime victims closure. Others were more resistant. Oh yes, Light garnered some bad attention, as well. This crazy detective called "L" got on his case. That was when things started to _really _pick up.

Soon it became a game of, as humans would call it, cat-and-mouse. Each of them had to hunt each other down without knowing each other's name or face. Whoever was found out first would die.

Ryuk personally wasn't crazy about the guy, but Light found an equal, a kindred soul in L despite being enemies, something he hadn't found before in anyone else. L was just as cold-blooded and calculating as Light, and managed to get quite a few good licks in on him, though Light would generally pay him back in kind. Being the son of the chief of the police force gave him an edge ("It also made for some pretty awkward conversations around dinner").

Over those next few months they would get closer, under the pretense of a "good friendship," all the while trying to feel out each other's identity, enough so one could kill the other. Light would gain an ally in a girl with the Shinigami Eyes who was too much in love with him to be considered sane, as well as half in love with death. "She was cute, though, I'll give her that. Sometimes you couldn't help but feel sorry for her, what with the way Light played around with her and she let him. But underneath it, she could be nasty in her own right. Had Rem wrapped around her little finger and she knew it."

"A shinigami mooning over a _human?_ You're making that up," Lumen clucked, disbelieving and frankly disgusted by the idea.

"I don't make things up, though I can't really blame you for thinking so. It _is _kinda silly. And it was bad for Rem. Light milked that for all it was worth."

Light had a penchant for bending the rules of the notebook to his whims without actually breaking them. Not only did he manage to clear his name with a couple of fake rules and a temporary memory wipe for them both, but he even got someone else to act as Kira in the meantime and take the fall. Some white-collar loser after status, and who had the hots for Misa despite being more than ten years her senior.

Eventually, it would all come to a boil. Misa found the notebook Light had buried and traded for the Eyes again, despite Ryuk's pointing out that her lifespan had already been halved from making the Eye Deal with Rem. She took up killing again.

L was going to test the notebook. He was going to hurt Misa. Already shaken from her dealings with Higuchi and Light, Rem wasted no time in using her notebook to kill off both L and his right-hand man. Or at least, she'd succeeded in killing one of them.

But L had somehow caught wind of Light's plan—or at least most of it. He used the Death Note against him. In one fatal stroke of irony, Light had gone from being just shy of the top of the world to being totally screwed. The looks on all his friends' faces when they circled him were priceless. Especially his old man's.

Now Ryuk had his dog-eared notebook open in his lap, staring at his crooked handwriting on one particular yellowed page. His name was still there, after all these years. _Light Yagami. "Moon Night God." _

"I figured that it was time to put him out of his misery. I didn't feel like waiting until he died in prison. That would've been boring, compared to everything that'd happened up 'til then. So, he lost the game. But, he did kinda win, too. That L guy died not long after he did, all alone. But before he did, he burned the notebooks. He wasn't as interesting as Light in that respect. I was kinda hoping he'd try it out, what with how similar he was to Light. I guess no two humans are exactly alike, another thing that makes them interesting…

"It's a shame, really, how it all ended so soon…I can't help but miss him, a little…"

How did this happen? How could it all amount to naught after everything he gave up? Wasn't Light supposed to be "the god of a new world?"

"No, Light. You weren't actually a god, back then," he murmured. "You were something else."

All this time of trying to become a god, Light had forgotten that for all of his brilliance, he was still human. Nothing he did could take away from that fact. Humans had flaws. If Light had any, it would've been that he had never once doubted his abilities. His foolish pride.

Was it the notebook poisoning his mind, or had his mind always been poisoned?

Ryuk noticed the lack of commentary from his visitor. When he turned to look into the darkness behind him, Lumen was gone. Like he'd never been there.

"Huh, he left." He hadn't noticed him lumber back down those steps. Had he even stuck around to hear the end of his tale?

_So that's it, huh? _

Wheezing, Ryuk returned to gaze out into the abyss. "Go ahead. Why not give it a shot? If you're lucky, some unbelievable guy might just pick up your notebook. Maybe you'll get to see something you'll never forget for the rest of your life. That's what I think.

"Wouldn't you agree…Light?"

…

"So did you find him?"

Umbra didn't look back at him as he ambled up behind him. He didn't have to. He could recognize that crunch of boots across the bone-white sand from anywhere.

"You were right, Umbra," Lumen announced, his gravelly voice carrying a faraway pitch to it, for he was still rapt by the story he had heard. Shinigami were not swept away by almost anything, most of them having seen it all. And yet the way he spoke, Umbra would have thought he had had…what did humans call it, an ecstatic vision? An epiphany? "That Ryuk had quite an adventure in the world below us. He told me everything and all I had to do was give him a measly apple."

In contrast, Umbra's words were as soft as the gust whipping sand into his dark unruly mane, or the last more or less peaceful breaths of a dying man. "How did it end?"

Lumen scratched his equally unruly mane as murky and brown as dried blood. "Huh? I don't know, I didn't stay for that part. I think the human he hung out with died or something. But who cares how it ended? What matters is that when Ryuk dropped his Death Note into the world below, this human did interesting things with it. He tried to become a god, like one of us, only more magnificent."

"Why doesn't it matter how it ended?"

"'End.' Heh. How do we even know what that word means?" Lumen snorted. "Humans have ends. They're born, they live a while, they die whether we will them to or not. But shinigami…we have no end. This boring world we live in has no end. Or beginning, for that matter. No one remembers where they came from or when. Even I don't know how I got here, and neither do you. We just are."

Umbra didn't partake in their games, nor did he speak very much. Instead, he watched. He listened. He observed. Once he'd had his fill of shinigami life, which happened fairly quickly, he would turn his sights to the many portals that opened into the world below. Admittedly yes, the human world seemed to have much more to offer with all its colors, its sounds, its vibrancy. But unlike their world, it was all finite, wasn't it?

If he were to go there himself, could he bear it?

He didn't know, nor was he sure he wanted to find out. Unlike Lumen, always wandering about in his quest for novelty, he was content to sit in one spot and watch from a distance, crouched on his long, spiny grasshopper-like legs, four of his spidery paws resting on his knees and two supporting his jaw. Probably no one would've known that he existed if it weren't for Lumen coming back time and again to chew his ear off about this or that (if he had ears to be chewed).

Besides, the only business a shinigami would have in the human world was if they'd somehow lost their notebook in that place. It didn't sound worth the trouble to him.

Lumen begged to differ.

He peered over Umbra's head, at the watery image of a girl tucked in her bed fast asleep. A black cat was curled up at her feet.

If Lumen could frown, he might have. "Huh. Seems that almost every time I catch you here, you're staring at that particular human. Why don't you just kill her, already? Make up for all the time you've wasted looking at her."

"I'm not interested in her. She lives in the same building as several other humans. I'm looking through all of them."

"That's funny. It just seems that every time you're at a portal, you keep going back to look at that one, for some reason. Not that I care what you do, 'cause I don't."

This was the sentiment for most shinigami towards each other's affairs. They didn't exactly have bosom friends in each other but some would congregate anyway, for games and whatnot. Perhaps because it was better than the alternative?

"You just contradicted yourself."

Lumen was taken aback. "Huh? What d'ya mean?"

Without looking at him, Umbra said, "You said that shinigami have no end. Doesn't the fact that you're suggesting that I kill this human to make up for lost time mean that we _do _have an end?"

Lumen grunted to himself. Shinigami didn't value reason and logic like humans did, only to the extent of how it applied to their lives, which beyond following the laws of their world and of their notebooks, was not far-reaching. Shinigami, unlike humans, had nothing to argue or squabble over except the occasional gambling foul, but even these were insignificant.

That was not to say that there couldn't be exceptions. "Well, that's my point! As long as we keep killing humans for their remaining years, we can live forever! Humans can't lengthen their lifespans, only shorten them. So we really do have no end."

"Then what's the point if this life is so boring?"

No self-respecting shinigami would admit to it, but deep down, they were all afraid. Maybe their world was boring, but what else was there besides it and the finite human world below them? That was why shinigami killed humans, to collect on the surplus of time. No one could see their lifespans nor could they see each other's, but that didn't quench their drive to kill as they sensed their own time slipping away from them. No one wanted to think about what would happen if, or when, their time ran out.

Perhaps shinigami were similar to humans, in that way. They just had the means to delay the inevitable. Indefinitely, if they wanted.

"We'll just have to make our own excitement," spat Lumen, tossing his head. "If Ryuk could do it, there's no reason why we couldn't."

Umbra squinted his white, beady, pupil-less eyes. "But the only way to get down there is if you dropped your notebook. I don't know if one visit to the human world is worth sacrificing your notebook."

Lumen clasped his large, skeletal paws. "Hmm…I'll find a way around it. I don't care if you go or not, but I'm doing this, one way or another. That girl there doesn't seem all that special. She won't do. I need a human like the one Ryuk met. Someone like Light Yagami."

"How will you know when you've found him or her?"

Lumen didn't answer for a beat. He peered up through his goggles into the dreary nothingness hanging over them like a shroud. "I'll know. Guys like Light Yagami…must have some way of standing out from the flock."

Umbra doubted that discriminating in such a way would produce the same results that Ryuk's experience had. But he kept this thought to himself. As he listened to Lumen lumber away, his long ragged coat swishing behind him, he murmured, "Good luck with that."

When he could no longer hear Lumen's footsteps, he adjusted his view back to the messy-haired girl, who was now starting to stir and pawing around for her alarm clock.


	2. Strike

_**Disclaimer! **_**All fictional entities featured/ mentioned in this segment belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata; except Erin Blogger and a few extra characters not from the canon cast, who I made up for the purpose of this fan fiction. Any other unfamiliar names may be either other original characters or allusions to real-life people. **

_**2. Strike**_

Erin was already in the throes of wrestling with the unbearable August humidity, her room transformed into a sauna. The AC had broken down on Friday, and the repairman wouldn't be able to come over until Wednesday afternoon. Until then, she and Lawliet had battled with the heat every way they knew how, from throwing all the covers off the bed except the spreadsheet, now soaked underneath her with sweat, to sharing the fan that swept back and forth from head to foot and back again, cranked up to level three.

The whir of the fan and strange cool of the sweat-soaked sheet and pillows were just about to lure her to sleep when thumps on the other side of the wall snapped her awake. Mice? No. These were too loud and clunky to just be mice. Besides, she was sure that whatever pest problem they'd had, Lawliet had taken care of it. Where else could he have found all those mangled critters he used to leave for her on the sofa or at her computer?

_Crash!_

Lawliet, with his feline reflexes, leapt off the bed instantly, landing on his nimble black paws as Erin scrambled on the side of the bed, reaching for old Louie who lay wedged between the mattress and the bedpost. Farley had given her his old Louisville slugger before she'd left home, in case of this sort of thing.

"_I was planning to give Louie to my kid if I ever have one, but I think right now you'll need him more if you won't get a gun. I'd like my kids to have an aunt in their lives, no matter where she is or what she's doing." _

"_It's kinda early to be talking about kids, don't you think? That kind of talk, you're gonna scare Penny away." _

"_That kind of talk, you're gonna scare all the guys away. You better know what you're doing, sis, moving all the way across the friggin' country. To LA, no less."_

_"Aw, come on. Deep down you must've known that I'd go there one day." _

_"Heh. Then I guess all I can say at this point is, brace yourself for a fucking of epic proportions. When you've had enough, you know where to find us." _

"_I love you too, bro. Thanks for giving me Louie. I'll take care of him." _

The bat in her hand, she crept towards the door with bated breath, her heart slamming into her ribs with increasing force as the thumps increased in intensity. She could hear stuff, her stuff, getting tossed around. She peeked through the crack in the door. In what little light that poured in through the window from the porch light outside, a long shadow stretched down the hall, dancing frantically along the wall.

_Shit. _

Louie became hot and slippery in her fists. The past four or so years had stripped away some of her naivety; she hadn't come to this city totally unaware of the dangers. Still, placing her faith in the inner goodness of people, she hadn't counted on someone dropping by on her humble abode like this except perhaps her landlord demanding the occasional late rent check. LA couldn't have been that different from New York. With a name like Los Angeles—Spanish for "The Angels"—a stranger would think that this would be one of the safer and more blessed parts of the country.

Erin didn't have time to dwell on such irony. She felt Lawliet's fur twitch and bristle against her bare ankle, his hiss low and ominous like a gas leak. Aside from the hunting and bringing home dead things, he wasn't generally aggressive, from what Erin could see. Most of the time, he kept to himself, preferring to hide in dark nooks and crannies, showing himself when he felt like it; such was the attitude of many cats (and some people).

She squinted, against the salty sting of sweat, the lack of light, and her own bad eyesight, having had no time to put on contacts or her glasses. She could make out the silhouette of a figure fumbling around the couch.

Another known fact: cats were territorial. Before it could register to her, he had squeezed out the door and bounded around the corner, lost to the shadows in a flash.

"Lawliet, no—"

A yowl. Shrill and piercing, like a baby screaming bloody murder. Lawliet's scream, matched only by the string of thick, accented profanities entwining with it in a dreadful duet.

Any embarrassment she might have normally felt about having someone see her in nothing but a stained white wife-beater and yellow panties poured out of her as she charged for her target, ignoring the sharp pain shooting up her foot as her toe collided with something hard—probably the door—numbed only by the pure rush of adrenaline pounding in her veins.

She thought she saw a glimmer. A knife? A screwdriver? Oh God, he had a weapon! Lawliet would get skewed, for sure!

"_**Stay away from my cat!" **_

Erin took a mighty swing. And another. And another, with only two, three seconds in between. Don't let up, they'd said, even if it looked like the danger had passed. Keep fighting, keep making a ruckus.

The issue of beating an assailant to a black, blue, bloody and dead pulp wasn't exactly touched down on. Erin didn't like the idea of killing someone, even in self-defense. Whatever happened to "shoot to stop, not kill?"

"_It's either you or him." _

Why couldn't it be both? Or neither?

_**POW! POW! POW! **_

Erin tried to keep a good distance, close enough to keep landing blows, but far enough so he couldn't reach her with his own weapon. Whatever he was shouting out, she could hardly hear him over the thundering of her own pulse. The entire apartment exploded with a blast of heat and the sound of bone colliding with furniture.

Then the air seemed to fall flat, for the most precious of moments. Taking care not to let Louie fall out of her hands, she blinked back into focus and squinted down at the stranger sprawled out on the floor, brushing a few greasy locks of hair out of her face.

He—a man from the looks of it—was face-down, a ski mask over his head, but he looked to be about in his twenties, if not late teens. A few holes in the back of the mask betrayed patches of dark, curly hair. His clothing was dark and grubby, consisting of a black hoodie, leather gloves, jeans, and a ratty pair of sneakers. Only someone with burglary on his mind would dress up this warmly in this weather.

Then she saw it, there in his gloved hand. A pocketknife, splattered with shiny dark red. Blood.

_Oh no…_

Erin didn't have time to call out to Lawliet, wherever he was at. Right then, the man, moaning and cursing to himself, began scrambling back onto his feet, the knife shaking in his hands with punch-drunk but too clear intentions.

Without thinking, she swung at him again. Louie met his side with a loud fleshy clunk that made Erin wince and the guy on the receiving end topple back over, once again knocking the coffee table out of place with his head. She wasted no time half-jumping off the loveseat and body-slamming him into the carpet, straddling him around his thin waist and wrestling him into a rear chokehold, one arm strapped over his arm and across his chest, the other pressed over his head with Louie squeezed between the two. He smelled of sweat and testosterone and anger, his breath pungent and ragged as he tried to get back the wind she had knocked out of him.

"You—you crazy bitch," he slurred into the floor, squirming in her grip as he tried to reach for the knife just inches away from him. "I'll sue your ass in court."

"Really?" Erin gasped. "You break into _my _apartment, try to steal _my _shit, almost maul _my _cat, and _I'm_ getting sued? F-for protecting what's _mine?_"

"Yeah! S'not like you need the money that bad." Did he mean this? Or was he undergoing the first throes of a concussion? Erin wasn't sure how many times she'd whacked him upside the noggin, if any, but he'd fallen against the coffee table at least twice. Without losing too much of her grip, she worked up her fingertips. Grasping at the warm, wet edges of the hole in the mask, she jerked his head and ripped off the mask. His skin was olive, moistened and shiny with sweat, the right side of his angular face smeared with drying blood that trickled from the gash that stretched from his eye to his hairline.

A twinge of remorse shot through her chest. This was exactly the sort of thing she dreaded about these kinds of situations, besides the other obvious thing.

She used Louie to drag the knife across the floor, far enough away from the man underneath her, but close enough so she could get to it. "Aw, jeez. Sorry I wailed on you. But, you know, if you hadn't broken into my place…I think an apology is in order."

"'Sorry?' M-man, you just one crazy bitch, you know that?"

Yep. Definitely a concussion.

"So I've been called."

Maneuvering the knife into her hand (wiping off whatever blood she could on the carpet), she sat up, taking both of the man's wrists while Louie lay across his back. "I'm gonna have to tie you up," she warned him, still out of breath herself. "I-I don't wanna have to, but if you try to come at me again, I'll wail on you some more. Got it?"

The man grunted, trying to turn his head around, probably to spit in her face. Erin simply rolled Louie over his neck like a rolling pin over pizza dough, pinning him in place. His hands still writhing in hers, she pinned them behind him—or above him, as it were—molding them into half-formed knuckles before stuffing them into his mask. Pinning his wrists down with Louie over them, she took the bloodied knife and, swallowing down her squeamishness, sliced a strip of cloth from the hem of her wife-beater.

She hadn't expected her first confrontation with a burglar to pan over this well. But, perhaps she was giving herself too much credit? This kid, the clumsy way he'd broken in, the way he'd tried to attack her and how was putting up less resistance…it was possible that he hadn't been robbing for very long. In fact, what if this was his first time?

"You're new at this, at you?" she asked him.

"That s'posed to be a joke?"

"No, really." She needed to keep him awake, in case he really was getting a concussion. She needed to call 911. She needed to find _oh God, where's Lawliet? _

She was in the middle of tying the cloth around his wrists, binding his hands within the confines of his mask, when a familiar voice bellowed, "Hey! The hell's goin' on in 'ere?"

Erin heard the patter of slippers across broken glass. She didn't look up, though. She couldn't. "Yo Frank, took you long enough! C'mere, help me flip this guy over! It's okay, his hands are tied."

Frank made a bewildered noise, but deciding it best to ask questions later, slipped his pistol back into the pocket of his robe. He crossed through the gaping threshold that used to be the back door, stumbling over the old brick on the floor—no doubt the means the thief had used to bust in.

Their combined effort huffed and puffed the man onto his seat, propped against the arm of the loveseat. His dark eyes seemed cloudy and unfocused, watering as Frank reached over to click on the lamp. He cursed under his breath, twisting his head as far away as he could from the garish sting of light.

"Shit," grumbled Frank, still catching his breath. "What happened in here? Are you okay?"

"What do you think?" Erin would take no chances. She had already gone to undo the man's shoelaces so as to tie them together. Like Farley used to do as a prank when she was still learning how to tie them herself as a preschooler and she had asked him to show her how.

He wasn't trying to spit at her, this time. His semi-rattling head rolled to the side. She snapped her fingers in his face. "Hey, c'mon kid, stay with us. Frank, did you call 911 yet?" she gasped.

"Yeah, Macy was dialing 'em before I went out to check on you."

"You ask for an ambulance?"

"Wh-why? Oh shit, are you hurt?" Frank demanded, his beady eyes widening as he saw her torn wife-beater and the faint smears of blood clashing against the white cloth.

"No, no, I'm fine. I'm not so sure about this guy, though. He clonked his coconut against my table and took a couple whacks from my bat. He might have a concussion, but I'm not sure. Definitely gonna need stitches." Her words grew shakier by the second, in spite of her best attempt to steady it.

Both Frank and the intruder passed her odd looks. How many folks would beat the snot out of someone who'd just tried to burglarize them, and then go Good Samaritan on them in the same breath? "You sure _you're_ not the one with the concussion?" he muttered.

"Frank!"

"Well, I'm sure they've sent the medics over, too. You say there's an emergency, they send the whole fucking cavalry."

Erin exhaled, still trembling with the rise and ebb of adrenaline through her body. She swiped both Louie and the knife from off the floor. "Watch him, I'm gonna get some ice from the fridge for his head, and then I need to find Lawliet. Keep talking to him, he's gotta stay awake until they get here. Ask him his name."

Frank drew back in disbelief. "_What? _Fine, whatever," he huffed. He took on a square stance in front of the delirious young man at his feet, his fingers caressing the pistol in his pocket, meaning to keep it within reach in case of signs of attack. "Hey boy, what's your name?"

No answer, except a groan.

Frank asked again, a bit louder, this time, "Hey boy, what's your name?"

"…Wassit to you, old fart?"

"Why, you—look, the cops are coming over any minute and they're gonna get your name anyhow. You might as well tell us what it is. I for one could care less but my neighbor, who you just tried to rob, for some reason is really itching to know what it is."

The young man swallowed hard. This was a stupid idea; what had made him go through with this? Because he needed to scrap up some _dinero_ to pay off his debts? He should have just quit after narrowly escaping from the first place he'd robbed. Already these people were asking for his name. Once word had gotten out that his brother had been arrested, he was done for.

But then, how long had it been since Kira had killed his last victim? Three, four years? If he hadn't returned by now, maybe he truly was gone from this world? Maybe he realized how pointless it was to keep killing all the criminals? Maybe he'd died or had been caught by the cops in secret?

The heat and the throbbing in his skull made it hard to concentrate on coming up with a fake name to satisfy them. The man in the robe and the girl bounding out of the kitchen, everything in his field of vision came to him in rolling waves.

Perhaps if he had to die, he'd prefer that Kira do it than _them. _At least it'd be quick.

"…Miguel."

"Huh?"

"My name's Miguel."

The ice inside the plastic bag was already sweating in the palm of Erin's hand. The cold numbed and swelled up her hand, yet it was the closest thing to relief Erin had felt in the past few days. But, this ice was not for her. She knelt down in front of Miguel. "Hey Miguel, here's some ice," she said, working up the closest she could get to a smile at that moment as she gently dabbed at the gash along his face, a dishrag wrapped around the bag to absorb the blood, sweat and condensation. "I'm Erin, and this is Frank. It's too bad we had to get acquainted this way, but you know…so, is it okay if I ask why the hell you tried to rob us, anyway?"

Miguel scowled. "That's nun'na your biz'ness. You—you really are a bitch. Acting nice to me before I get my ass hauled outta her—"

"Hey, we can be rougher on you if you want," Frank shot back. "I just so happen to have my pistol on me, and I ain't afraid to use it. Ever heard of not bringing a knife to a gunfight, kiddo?"

"Guys, please! No more violence. Frank, hold this against his head, will ya?"

The older man shook his head, but complied with her request as Erin rose to her feet again. He did not kneel, however. Instead, he reached out his free hand to press the ice in place, still standing, still keeping his distance. His other hand never left his pocket.

"Lawliet? Lawliet, where are you? Are you okay?"

The wail of sirens outside drowned out whatever reply Lawliet would have made. Beams of flashing red and blue poured in through the window. Erin hurried over to the door when she heard footsteps approach and tore it open.

"Ma'am, we got a call that this apartment number was just broken into," said the cop at the head of the pack. "Is anyone hurt?" he asked, pausing to look at the wreck she no doubt looked like at the moment.

Erin glanced over at Louie gripped in her hand. "Ah! No, I'm okay. This is my apartment. The guy who broke in here, though, you might wanna look him over. He's banged up pretty bad. He's over by my couch, Frank's with 'im. I'm looking for my cat, so you just go on and do what you have to, Officer…"

"Officer Clancy, sorry for that." The officer turned to the cop on his left and briskly told him to alert the paramedics. "Ma'am, wait. Did you just say you were looking for your cat?"

"Uh-huh. As soon as we heard this guy break in, he ran out, probably to show him who's boss, you know?" she half-chuckled, in spite of herself. "He had a knife, and I think he hurt him with it. It's got blood on it. Here, this is it. You can ask Frank for more details." She dropped the weapon into Clancy's huge open hand, jogging a bit in place. She didn't like the look he had on, right then. Was he upset because she'd tampered with evidence at the scene of a crime? Or annoyed with the fact that she was more interested in finding her pet cat than in answering any questions?

By this time, several more neighbors popped out to see what the commotion was about, only to be deterred from their rubbernecking by the police. As a few more cops and the medics shot in from the back, Erin's mind buzzed with too many things happening all at once. She would think that she'd be used to this sort of thing, that anyone could get used to this, but apparently not. Or at least, she was not one of those types that could take such chaos in stride. Not like some people she knew.

…What was that? A hiss? Had she misheard?

She held up a finger. "_Sssh!_ You hear that?" Reaching to pull what was left of her top over her thighs to cover her underwear (which did not help to cover much) when a flush of embarrassment began to trickle in against all odds, she sprung over to her TV.

There it was again, almost unnoticed in all this racket. But as she got down on her knees to glimpse into the cranny between the old TV and the wall, she could make out a black, bristling mass shivering within the tight space, hissing now and then in anger and unspoken fear and pain. His canines flashed in the shadows, his ears flattened against his head. What was left of them, anyway.

"Lawliet! Officer, he's behind my TV. I can't see him that good; does he look hurt?"

This time, another officer, a rookie named Andres, took out a flashlight, stooped over the TV and shined it into the space, while Clancy had headed straight for Frank and Miguel. Lawliet's pupils broadened even further in anxiety as he released a snarl. "Yikes! Looks like his ear's sliced in half. His head's all bloody."

…

_Son of a bitch._ Forget burglary, what kind of son of a bitch would lash out at an animal? Tears of many emotions welled up in her eyes, but she couldn't indulge in them now. She had no time to dwell on her anger towards the man who'd done this. Right now, she needed to get Lawliet to the pet ER. She would have a good cry later when—or if, as it felt—this ended.

Besides, what more could she do to that poor bastard? He was already on the verge of passing out, and unless her ears deceived her he had just started gagging, like he was about to throw up. Once he pulled himself together and got out of the hospital, he should get enough time to think about his actions in jail. She would deal with him, then.

"Hey. Hey, it's okay, boy. I'm here. C'mere, we gotta—"

He snarled at her, making her draw back her hand a few inches.

"H-hey, it's not my fault you went after him like a little tough guy."

Or was it? Erin could've shut him up in her room before going to confront the intruder. He wouldn't have liked that, but it would've had a better outcome than this. At the very least, he'd have been less likely to get his ear sliced open.

No. This was no time for placing blame, either. Cats could be such difficult creatures. Claws and teeth didn't quite match up to knives, but as relatives to the mighty lions and tigers and cheetahs in the pages of Nat-Geo™, cats were too proud to heed such odds. Lawliet had roughed up the bad guy as best he could, and only when he was sure Erin could take over had he decided to retreat. Indeed, the term "scaredy-cat" was an outrageous misnomer that people had coined, an old wives' tale.

At least, Erin could only guess that this was what ran through the cat's mind. In that same vein, getting him into his carrier wouldn't be easy, especially with Officer Clancy insisting that he needed to hear from her on how this whole mess had went down.

"Hold on, I've got a pair of gloves," she said. "Keep an eye on him. Let me grab for him; the mess he is now, there's no way he's gonna let a stranger touch 'im. Last thing I need is to get charged 'cause he roughed up a cop." Oh, thank God for humor. Somehow, no matter how poorly placed, it seemed to make any situation just a bit more bearable.

"A-are you sure about that, ma'am?" asked a hesitant Officer Andres.

Erin nodded, swallowing down the sticky lump clogging her throat. "Trust me, I gotta go through this sort of thing with him all the time when he has to go see the vet just for check-ups." Louie in her hand, she dashed back for the kitchen, ripping off from the top of the fridge an old pair of arm-length leather gloves, worn from the many times a hot-'n'-bothered cat had attempted to sink his sharp teeth into them in hopes of escape. Erin had been trying to train him into going into his carrier voluntarily by using his favorite treats as positive reinforcement, like the book suggested.

But right now, she doubted whether treats would be enough to coax him, this time. Most if not all of the progress they'd made would probably slip down the drain after this. At the same time, Lawliet did _not _need to be man-handled. Miguel had done more than enough of that.

So she fumbled the gloves onto her sweating hands. With a composing sigh, she snatched up a towel and a can of the cat's version of kryptonite: catnip.

She was vaguely aware of the paramedics lugging Miguel out through the back door on a stretcher. When she returned, the can tucked under her arm and Louie in her hand, Andres was still looming over the TV, trying to keep Lawliet within sight without scaring him away by shining his flashlight directly on him. "Is he still back there?"

"Yeah."

"Sensational! Now, his carrier is by the front door. Go get it, please? I'll take care of him."

"Huh? Well, okay. I'll be quick!" Andres had a feeling that this wasn't exactly protocol in a break-in situation, but how could he say no to a distressed damsel and her wounded pet cat?

With Andres out of the way, Erin set Louie aside, peeled open the can and shook a pinch of the plant into her open hand. Just enough to calm him. Too much of the stuff would have him dinging off more junk than a pinball, like he'd snorted coke. Oh yes, Erin had learned that the hard way when she'd once made the mistake of leaving him with an entire open can.

As she lowered her hand out to him she swallowed again, this time to bite back the tears. Lawliet shouldn't need to see her cry, not while he was like this. Animals, particularly when stressed themselves, didn't typically react well to negative emotions (fear, mostly, the jury was still out on tears). She hoped that he wouldn't find the gloves as threatening as he used to; so far their training had consisted of her offering him treats while she wore them, eventually adding petting to the "reward," so he'd get accustomed to their presence. They had just started working on the carrier before this happened.

Would Lawliet go for the catnip despite his split ear? Though still snarling and hissing to himself, Lawliet began to slink out inch by inch as soon as the scent had hit his tiny velvet nose. As if he were begrudgingly following his companion's whims, or just his urge to chew on some nip. It wasn't as though he hadn't earned it through his valor.

Seeing the way he limped to her, keeping low to the floor as he licked his lips, ripped her heart out. She still couldn't see him clearly, but what she did see seemed to warrant a trip to the clinic. "_Sssh…_it's okay, Lawliet," she coaxed him, her voice growing soft. "You're gonna be okay. Come on, come get your nip. You earned it."

Andres came back just then with the open carrier, holding it out at arm's length. He knelt down and placed it behind her, his movements slow and deliberate so as not to startle the cat.

As soon as most of the nip had disappeared into his mouth, Erin wrapped him up in the towel burrito-style and took him by the scruff of his neck, the same way his mother would have likely done before her. Before he could start to protest, she eased him into the carrier sprinkled with hairs, zipping the flap shut behind him.

…

She didn't have much time to dress; before they'd left in Officer Andres's squad car, she'd thrown on a pair of ratty shorts, flip-flops and despite the heat, a denim jacket. Officer Clancy so happened to share the same ride, and he conceded to taking them to the nearest pet emergency clinic before starting questions.

Lawliet's right ear had been sliced in half and he had taken a stab of moderate depth to his right flank, another of less severity to his left shoulder blade. Had the knife touched anything important? Unlikely, said the doctor. "But just in case, we'll keep him here for a day or two to make sure. We're patching him up, right now. I'm sorry that this happened to you."

Thanks to the catnip, Lawliet put up less of a resistance than he would have normally, though the growling and hissing refused to yield. Erin was left alone in the stark white waiting room with two officers prodding her for her version of tonight's events. As best and as evenly as she could, she answered their questions one by one.

"So, you know who that guy was?" she asked once she found it the right time to ask.

"Miguel Mora, age 20. A guy who matched his description had tried to rob another place, couple nights ago," said Officer Clancy. "We think this might be the same guy, but we haven't gotten to putting him in custody, yet."

"You did a number on him," said Andres. "He's probably gonna be in the hospital for a few days. After that, he's going to jail."

Erin felt herself flush with fever, despite the blistering chill of the AC. So that guy _was _new at this, and younger than her, to boot. What would compel him to do such a thing as to break into someone's home and rob them? Money? She didn't have many extremely valuable things besides a laptop, a cell phone and a TV. But maybe if one was desperate enough, just about anything they looked at had dollar signs stamped all over it.

"Will he be okay?" she squeaked.

The men exchanged looks. They'd dealt with countless break-ins in this area, but not many victims asked if the _perp_ would be okay.

"He said he would sue me for beating and tying him up. Am I going to have charges pressed against me, too?"

"Ma'am, he broke into _your _place and came at you and your cat with a knife," said Andres. "You had every right to protect yourself. Besides, it's not like you killed him." Something about Andres made Erin think of Matsuda for a moment then.

Clancy shot the younger officer a glazed look, his hazel eyes baggy and swollen from stress and the lack of sleep. "Well, I wouldn't take it that seriously. He has the right to an attorney, but only with regard to the charges against him. Whether he wants to sue you is his business. And I doubt he'd have much of a case if he went through with it."

Her eyes rolled to the bleached tiles under their feet as she wrung her hands, gritting her teeth. It was over. An overwhelming swell of emotions surged through her: relief and guilt and fear and anger and exhaustion and embarrassment and—

She bent over herself and rested her head on her arms to hide her slick greasy face, no longer able to hold it in. She had gotten lucky again, this time. Did she deserve it? She didn't know, and she was too tired to think that much about it. The adrenaline rush had left her as limp as an airless balloon.

"Ma'am?"

Erin wouldn't look up. As petty as it sounded, she didn't want these guys to see her crying. It wouldn't help anything, if they did. "I—I'm fine," she choked, "just gimme a minute." Still hiding her face in her jacket sleeve, she mumbled, "I-I need to use the bathroom," as she pushed herself onto her feet, still on hot pins and needles though they were.

…

The trill of the house phone shook her from her trance. Erin folded the paper over in her lap and reached over to snatch up the phone. In her haste, she forgot to check the ID flashing on the tiny screen. "Y'ello?"

"_Yellow to you, too, Erin!" _

She blinked in astonishment. She could recognize that chirping Japanese accent anywhere, and yet she couldn't believe it. "Misa?"

"_The one and only!" _

Erin bolted upright in an instant. "Whoa, I didn't expect to hear from you so soon! How's it going? Hey, where'ya at?"

"_We're calling from the airport. We just got off the plane, but we didn't see you anywhere, so I thought I should give you a ring." _

Airport…

_Fuck me. _

Erin clonked her forehead with the heel of her hand, feeling herself go red all over. "Aw, jeez! Misa, I'm so sorry! I totally forgot you and Kimiko were coming to LA today. I was s'posed to meet up with you, wasn't I? Nuts…I wanted to be the first to say welcome to Eagleland, but I reckon someone's already beat me to it."

She rose from the loveseat, slapping the paper on top of her laptop beside her, balancing the phone between her jaw and her shoulder as she hurried for her room to find something presentable to slip into.

"_Uh, yeah, LA International. It's okay if you're late, though. Getting robbed is a pretty bad distraction for anyone." _

Erin froze. "H—how did you—"

"_I picked up one of those old tabloids they've got sitting around this place. Pretty busy place, and this is coming from someone from Japan. Anyway, this little article in the back, it said that a guy was arrested for breaking into your place…and assault…Erin, are you okay? What about your kitty, is he okay, too?" _Misa asked, her voice getting a bit small for her.

Erin swallowed. This sort of thing hit a sore spot in Misa, herself a victim of a robbery that killed both her parents almost six years ago. Hadn't she told them repeatedly that she didn't want this posted in the paper in any way? On the other hand, who cared if people got their mugshots published in the next morning's installment, thoroughly humiliated for the more civilized demographic, so long as the public was kept aware of such crooks? If they wanted to avoid the whole mess, they shouldn't have done the crime in the first place. Or so was the idea.

Besides, it wasn't like they had anything to fear. Not anymore. It'd been almost four years, and not a single criminal who'd found his way into the media had died. Indeed, the world had changed since Kira disappeared as mysteriously as he'd come, though maybe not in the way he had had in mind.

"No, no, we're fine! He didn't even make off with anything. All I had to do with beat the snot outta him with my brother's bat," she answered, half-forcing a chuckle. "And Lawliet's fine, too."

If she could define "fine" for a cat as being half-bald and seething with a wonky ear. He had just come home from the clinic; today the doctor had removed the stitches, leaving train track-shaped scars on Lawliet's skin and an indentation around his neck from the cone they'd put on him so he wouldn't tear out the stitches. Since then Lawliet had refused to speak to her except in growls and hisses, like it was her fault that he looked like an extreme pet makeover gone horribly wrong. She had given him a pinch of cat nip to take off some of the edge, which helped a bit, but she had to be careful not to give him too much too often. What if he built up a tolerance? Or worse, a dependence? Oh, he'd be a little monster, then.

Now he was off somewhere in their cozy apartment, doing who knows what. Hopefully not dumping hairballs or worse into her shoes like he used to as a kitten. Many valiant socks had given their lives when she slipped into the soiled footwear without looking first, leaving their mates alone and mismatched.

"_I'm sorry that happened, Erin, I really am." _

"Eh, no biggie. Really. It was like a week ago. Old news."

"_Oh! I just had a thought!" _

Erin sifted through her closet for a blouse. "That's dangerous."

"_No, really! Come stay with me and Kimi for a while. We got this pretty house in the neighborhood that we'll be staying at while I make my Hollywood debut. It's big and roomy and safe. You can bring Lawliet here, too. Besides, we could use a guide to show us around." _

Misa's English had gotten better over the years, as had Erin's Japanese. Her L's and R's started to sound a little more like L's and R's, but sometimes she would still mix them up. Her pronunciation of Lawliet's name was more like "Roraito."

Roraito. Lawliet. Low Light.

"Wh-what? For real? Uh…shucks, Misa, you don't have to do that," muttered Erin, shifting the phone back into the hollow in her shoulder as she pulled out a blue denim blouse with a white flower embroidered on it.

"_Aaaww, come on! Please! It's only like, twenty minutes away from your apartment. You need to recuperate and we need a guide." _

Pulling the blouse off the coat hanger, Erin laid it on her bed before approaching her dresser for a pair of jeans. "Well, erm, thanks, Misa, but really, it's not necessary. I don't need any recuperating. Just because it happened once, doesn't mean it's gonna happen every night. Ever since that went down, just about all my neighbors have gone out to get guns."

"_I'll even pay for whatever damages you have." _

Erin almost tripped herself. "What? No, no, you don't hafta do that! I've pretty much cleaned up the mess already." She paused to think back on the boxes from their move from NY that now lined up in front of the new back door as a makeshift blockade, each of them filled with things that she had had yet to unpack, but figured that they could stay packed for a bit longer. At least until she could get bars installed.

Which she didn't yet have the money for…

"Look Misa, I don't want to take money from you. Because then I'd owe you, and—"

Misa made a Bronx cheer, known by others as a raspberry. _"Since I became a star, we've got more money than we know what to do with. We wouldn't miss it. Besides, you can pay us back by being our guide. You're a local, and more importantly, you're our friend. I trust you." _

She felt something in her eye, right then. It'd taken them a long time to find each other again after splitting up in the aftermath of the Kira case. But when they did—thanks to good old Matsuda—they had become fairly close. As much as two girls on opposite sides of the world could be, at least. They talked over the phone or online often. Before this all happened, she never thought she'd become friends with someone like Misa. An idol. An ex-serial killer.

Not that the girl in question remembered any of it. Once Erin debated with herself as to whether she should tell her the truth, but had decided against it. No one else seemed to have told her, and it probably would've been a bad idea. Even Kimiko only knew as much as she had to.

At any rate, Misa never asked for the details, and whatever demons she had wrestled with over the past few years had seemed conquered. The girl Misa used to be was gone, and since then, she shined brighter than ever, in her career and her personal life. There was no telling how much longer she had left to live, but at least she was making the most of it. Why would Erin ruin all the happiness she had built up by telling her something that she might not even believe?

This had to be the first time Misa had said outright that she trusted her. How could she say no, now?

Besides, the AC guy still hadn't shown up. "Family emergency," or something. That was fine, but the heat was really taking a toll on both her and Lawliet's sanity, especially after the fiasco they'd just tussled with.

She sighed. "Well, Misa, I dunno how you do it, but people just can't say no to you, can they? And I guess I'm no exception."

Erin dropped the phone and pair of jeans when the sound of Misa's joyful squeal tore into her eardrum. _"Yaaay! Misa is happy!" _

As she fumbled with the device in her fingers, she sputtered, "I see you still like to refer to yourself in third-person."

"_Why not? It's Misa's stick,"_ said Misa, a wink underlying her tone.

"Um, you mean 'shtick.'"

"_Yeah, that's what I said. Stick." _

Erin shook her head, a smile playing at her lips. That Misa. What a bundle. All 79 pounds of her. "All right, then. So, I guess I'd better pack up my things, if I'm gonna stay with you guys at Castle Amane. It could take a while longer."

"_Castle? I like the sound of that. 'Palace' sounds nice, too. Ooh-ooh! What if, instead of you coming to the airport, we can just catch a taxi and pick you up at your place? You'll save time and gas, that way." _

This wasn't new. Misa had a history of changing plans at the last minute. "Ah, sure, whatever you say, Misa-Misa! Hey, I should let you know up front. I've seen Hollywood and all, but I'm not exactly besties with any A-listers. Or B-listers. The only real celebrity I know that well is you."

And L, and Light, and Watari. Rest their souls.

"_Ho-ho! Then I guess we'll be helping each other out! You give us a tour, and I'll make you some very special friends." _

Erin almost fell over. She couldn't deny that having contacts would be nothing short of good for her young career. But at the same time, she didn't want to use Misa like a ticket to get in with the in-crowd. "W-wow, gosh! I don't—you—"

"_Yeah yeah, 'you don't have to do that.' I've heard it all before. You might as well accept it, Erin. I'm gonna do it, anyway. You know me." _

…

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. How right you are. So, take your time coming over, okay? Lawliet's not in the best of moods right now, so I'll need time to get him ready, too. We'll be waiting at the entrance of the complex. Don't wanna attract any unwanted attention, y'know?"

"'_Kay! See you soon, Erin! _Mwah!_" _

_Click. _

Erin hung up. Maybe she could ask Frank to watch her apartment for her while she was gone, just in case? He was the trustworthy, no-nonsense sort and toted a pistol. With Lawliet going with her, he wouldn't have to do much except water the flowers on her windowsill. She had some change to spare; she'd make it worth his while. If Misa insisted on paying for everything…

…

The reunion was a whirlwind of squeals and smiles and lung-compressing hugs, the instant Misa tore out of the cab, tugging a more reserved Kimiko along by the wrist. Erin couldn't resist sweeping the smaller girl off her feet and spinning her around once or twice.

"Oh Erin, I can't begin to tell you how wonderful it is to see you again! Oh! You're still wearing that old hat!" Over the years, Misa's wardrobe had toned down from the Gothic Lolita style she was so fond of and her colors had become brighter and gentler, though she still wore a streak of darkness when the mood struck her. Another one of her shticks as a celebrity, since they all needed at least one. Today, she came in a sleeveless red and pink striped top and a hip-hugging skirt, a pair of sequined sunglasses resting on top of her head. Both Amanes had dressed for the weather, with Kimiko in a simple canary yellow summer dress and wicker hat.

"Weh-hell, this old hat happens to be my rabbit's foot. And it's my stick," said Erin with a wink. For Kimiko, she bowed from the waist and offered her hand to shake. "Good to see you, Kimiko," she greeted in the Amanes' native tongue.

The older woman bowed in turn, a shy smile on her lips as she propped herself up between her cane and the car door, taking Erin's hand in her own. She had her sunglasses over her eyes. "The pleasure is mine," she replied, her voice softer and deeper than her younger sister's. "It's good that Misa has friends here in America to show us around."

"_Tch! _I'd have been lost in Japan if it weren't for Misa."

Seeing the pet carrier by Erin's feet, Misa knelt down to peek at the shaven, growling mass glaring back at her. "Oh no! What happened to Lawliet? He looks terrible!"

Lawliet hissed at her, as if to say, "You think?"

Erin scratched the back of her head. "Aw, he got in a, erm, catfight the other day with somebody bigger than him. He's just cranky because he got a little roughed up, and 'cause it's hot. He'll be back to his regular adorable self when his fur grows back. He might shed more than usual, though."

"Let's get him in the cab, quick! It's cool in here. The house should be even cooler!"

While the ladies helped Erin pack her things next to theirs, Kimiko read the name tag attached to the carrier and remarked, "Law…liet…that's a strange name for a cat." Her accent was thicker than Misa's, and the name rolled a bit on her tongue. "Roraito."

"He's a cat, of course he's gonna have a weird name," Erin chuckled. "Better than Mittens or Fuzzy or Whiskers. 'Specially since right now, he's not exactly any of those things."

"Where did you come up with it?"

"He likes to lie low in dim-lit places. It looked a little awkward to me on paper to spell it like 'Low Light,' so I tweaked it to make it look nicer, you know?"

No one noticed the odd glance Misa slid their way from the other side of the taxi as she slid inside.

"Misa, do you think it's okay to have a cat in the house?" asked Kimiko, concerned. "What about Jun'ai?"

Misa shrugged. "His cage hangs from the wall all by itself; I think he'll be fine," she called from in the passenger's side. "Unless your cat grows wings or something, ha ha. I've got shotgun!"

"You're too short for shotgun, Misa," Erin teased, taking Lawliet's carrier into her lap as she and Kimiko climbed into the back seat.

Misa stuck out her foot before pulling it back in and slamming the door, showing off her new black knee-length, high-heeled boots. "That's why I'm wearing heels! Now, Mr. Taxi Driver," she commanded into the disgruntled man's ear, "onward to Castle Amane!"

The house the Amane sisters had picked out months in advance was nicer than Misa had described over the phone. Not quite a huge honking mansion like some of its neighbors in 90210, but it was spacious for two women, let alone three plus a cat, a property of little over 1550 square meters. "About 16,750 square feet," Kimiko added. "The house itself is about 310 square meters."

"What's that in feet?" Erin asked, not the type who could work with numbers in her head without a paper and pencil or a calculator in front of her.

"Ah, 3360, squared." Kimiko glanced at her feet, not the type to want to look like a know-it-all. "These are just estimates, of course. Five bedrooms, four bathrooms. It's lovely for an old house; it was supposedly built in 1949."

"Kimi's always been a fan of numbers, can't you tell? I wanted a big palace where I can throw huge parties and invite lots of people," said Misa. "But Kimi wanted something smaller and cozier. So we met in the middle."

Erin appraised the quickly approaching house from her seat by the open window. Relishing in the cool breeze drying the sweat dotting her face, she whistled. "Dang, how much was it?"

Misa answered with a flippant toss of her hair, "Oh, three million or something." The little pigtails didn't show up nearly as often anymore either, as Misa had found a preference for wearing her hair completely down.

Erin wanted to faint. "Th-three _million?_" she sputtered. "Where the hey did you cough up that much dough?"

"I told you, Misa's a star! We're putting things on the dog! We're living large!"

"B-but not too large," chided Kimiko, leaning over in her seatbelt and slowly reaching across to touch her sister's shoulder.

Misa, not missing a beat, took her hand in hers and pecked it. "That's right. Misa still has to watch her figure."

Kimiko smiled. "You know that's not what I mean."

To think that just years ago, the Amanes hadn't so much as spoken to each other. After a shaky relationship wrought with tragedy and near-tragedy, they had found each other again and reconciled, slowly but surely. Kimiko had been sober for almost three years, after an accident that had left her limping and legally blind, and Misa was learning to forgive. She could talk about Light and her parents now—that is, if the subject came up—without tears, although there was a part of her that would always miss them.

No one ever truly stops missing the ones they love. It just gets easier to live without them. The show must go on, after all.

"Erin, you should see the koi pond that we built out back! It's so pretty and peaceful, just like back at home, and we've got koi of all different colors. They're so cute and shiny! The hands we hired to tend the place before we got here sure did a good job, huh, Kimi?"

"Lemme guess: are they imported? The fish, I mean?"

Misa clasped a hand over her mouth. "Oh, how did you guess that?"

Erin grinned sheepishly. "It'd probably be a bad idea to leave Lawliet alone in the backyard, then," she said, cringing at the thought of the cat dragging a smelly fish corpse into the house and dropping it at Misa's feet. "You guys have an extra room that I can just drop him in so he can have some alone-time?" Lawliet snarled in what she could interpret as begrudging agreement.

"Of course! We've got, like, five bedrooms like Kimi said."

The taxi crawled up the steep driveway and stopped in front of the stoop. The driver, a man of few words and didn't have anything to contribute to the conversation anyway, helped lug the girls' baggage to the front door, which was blocked by an iron gate. Misa made sure to hand him a generous tip for his troubles before he left.

The Amanes granted Erin and Lawliet two rooms by the back of the house on the second floor, one across from the other. Erin made sure to set up his things before letting him out of his carrier. Just as she had the zipper pinched in her fingers, she knelt down to the floor to look into Lawliet's wide, grey eyes.

"All right, look. I know these past few days haven't been the best for you, they haven't been for me, either. But Misa and Kimiko have been kind enough to welcome us into their air-conditioned three million-dollar house. We are guests here. As guests, there's a certain etiquette we have to follow. Which means, no peeing or dumping anywhere except in your box or out in the yard. No scratching anything except your post, that's why you have it. No bringing dead critters into the house. No nibbling on the Amanes' plants. And no more picking fights with people who are bigger than you. Or have knives. Do that for me, and there's a bag of treats in it for you.

She remembered the plump green lovebird with the red and pink face hanging in the gilded cage in the living room, swearing at the cat had leered at him through the carrier as they passed. "Oh. And no making passes at Jun'ai. He's not a snack."

Hiss.

"Don't worry. I'll even pop in that creepy cat flick that you like afterwards. Okay?"

Silence. After all this time, Erin would wonder sometimes whether Lawliet listened when she spoke to him. If he did, he didn't show it often.

"_Mrow,"_ she said softly.

Lawliet meowed back at her, as though mocking her for her poor impression of a brother or sister.

"I love you, Lawliet. I hope you know that."

She unzipped the carrier. She would've kissed him or massaged the top of his head with her knuckles, but he didn't look in the mood, right now. He like most cats (and some people) blew hot and cold when it came to affection, preferring to seek out their companions when they craved it. It couldn't be forced on them. Lawliet was quick to dart out across the room and into the hole inside his scratching post, the only place in the otherwise empty room where he could take cover.

Erin shook her head. She felt bad for hogging an entire room that the Amanes could have used for space, but this would only be for a few days. Lawliet couldn't stay in the garage, not in this weather.

That being said…

_Better take out whatever valuables are in here, _she thought, _in case he does start dropping bombs. _

She headed for the massive walk-in closet on the far right—little doubt a place where Misa stored whatever clothes that couldn't fit in her room—and was about to open it when she noticed something hanging from the ceiling in the corner.

_What the…? _

She squinted at the object, square-shaped with a clear unblinking eye and a tiny red light in the corner.

_A camera?_ What was a camera doing in Misa's room? Her gut knotted at the sight of it, watching her every move, though she wasn't sure why. Having once spent six months under constant surveillance, Erin found herself feeling somewhat odd around the things at times, however irrational. It made her think of him, watching her without her notice, dissecting her from the inside-out. Anticipating her next move. Maybe it hadn't necessarily been with ill intent, but that was one of the things that had made him intimidating. How could anyone be sure what his intentions were at heart? Were you his friend, his charge, his enemy, or his prey?

Erin liked to think that she had for the most part, moved past it, like everyone else. But that didn't mean she liked the feeling of being watched. Who did?

Misa had had almost twice as much surveillance on her when this was going on, and then some. What would Misa think about having a camera in her house? Did she even know it was there? Why wouldn't she? It was out in the open. Maybe she put it there?

One way to find out…

Erin ran out of the room and called down the stairs, "Misa?"

"Yeah?" a faint thrill answered back from somewhere on the floor below.

"Did you know that there's a cam in this room?"

Misa didn't reply, right away. Had she heard her?

Erin cleared her throat. _"Hey Misa—" _

"Hold on, I'm coming!"

Misa came bounding up the stairs in her socks with one hand trailing across the banister, her blond locks bouncing around the frame of her dainty face? "What did you say?" she asked, partly out of breath. "No good. Running out of breath just from climbing the stairs…I need to exercise more."

"There's, uh, there's a camera in the room. I was just…"

Erin paused. She could see yet another one hanging from the ceiling in the hallway.

"Uhm…what's with all the cameras?"

Misa giggled into her fingers. "Oh! Well why else would we have cameras? For security, silly! Misa's gonna be very rich and popular after her American debut, so we need all the security we can get. Plus if someone breaks in, his face will be on tape, so not even the best of the best lawyers could bail him out."

Erin bit her lip. Maybe this had something to do with the fact that even though Misa had seen the burglar just as he was finishing his bloody deed, it hadn't been enough to convict him in court. According to Misa, Yoichi Tamura might have walked away had Kira not stepped in when he had.

Ever since Kira had slain her boyfriend who had been investigating him, though—so the story went—she didn't seem so crazy about him anymore. Either way, it seemed that Misa refused to take any chances, this time.

"I see. But, is it a good idea to, you know, have them out in the open where the guy can see 'em? He might block or break them or something."

Misa was one of the very few people that Erin knew who could talk about such a serious topic with a smile. It helped that she didn't shy away from it or go apeshit when it came up, but something about smiling while talking about being ready for a break-in that may or may not happen—almost sounding like she was very certain that it would—was a bit creepy to Erin. "That's why we have a bunch of them, in every room in the house. He can't stop and dismantle _every _camera, can he? No matter what, he'd never escape the watchful gaze of justice."

Justice…

A few great men have said that justice prevailed, no matter what. Question was, what sort of justice had they referred to? Justice as a whole, or only the parts of it that suited them?

"Yeesh. I thought you said this was a safe neighborhood, Misa?"

"It is. But anything can happen. You should know that. You had to beat a guy within an inch of his life just last week. We're peace-loving, but we're not morons. Isn't that right?"

Erin chuckled in spite of herself, more out of anxiety than out of how funny Misa's words were. "No, we're not."

_Most of the time, at least. _

"Yo, if you need help unpacking stuff, I've got a couple extra hands," she offered, deciding to change the subject. So the cameras were just there as part of the new security system. Sounded legit. If somebody had really bugged the house because they'd wanted to spy on Misa, they could've at least hid the cameras better. Misa obviously knew that they were there and what they were for.

Besides, no one here in the Hills actually knew Misa yet. She may have been an idol over in Japan, but here she was just getting started.

"Why, thank you so very much, Erin, we'd appreciate that!" cheered Misa, clapping her hands. "The sooner we get the house spruced up, the sooner we can focus on planning for the house-warming party!"

"Wh-what? You're throwing a party so soon? But Misa, no one here on this block even knows you yet. Do they?"

"It's never too early to throw a party," the smaller girl declared, a finger pointed high over her head. "You wanna get known? You've gotta _make_ yourself known!"

…

Along with the house, the Amanes had also bought a car, a light teal '59 Chevy™ convertible. Though she generally preferred to keep up with the times, Misa found the older American cars nicer than the newer ones, and she couldn't resist the feel of the wind in her hair as she sped down the freeway. This time, though, Erin was the driver while Misa sat in the shotgun with her hand in the air, as though to caress it. Aside from one or two fans they'd chanced to meet at the mall, they hadn't yet had to deal with the full wrath of the paparazzi. Until then, they would enjoy their moments of freedom when they had it.

"Man, it's like you're spending that money like it's on fire!" shouted Erin over the roar of the wind and traffic. "Keep that up and you'll go bankrupt by Christmas."

"_Pshaw! _Don't tell me that you wouldn't spend it too, if you had that much money."

Soon the girls were approaching the street leading into Misa's neighborhood. But instead of making the turn, Erin passed it by without a second glance.

Misa looked over her shoulder at the quickly disappearing street behind them. "Huh? Um, Erin?"

"Hey listen," she said absent-mindedly, her eyes fixed on the road. No city in the world was without their lousy drivers, but the ones in LA could almost compete with the ones in NYC. "I just wanna make a quick stop. Is that okay?"

"Sure, Erin," said Misa, tucking some hair behind her ear, which showed off one of her new earrings. Turquoise, her birthstone. "Where are we going?"

"Oh, you know, to pay somebody a visit. A friend. He's down on his luck, and he could use an ear. Uh, I can turn around and drop you off."

"Don't bother. You already missed the turn. And in this traffic? No, thanks."

"What? Shit. Sorry, Misa. I guess I wasn't paying attention. Thought I was…"

"No, it's okay. Besides, if he's down on his luck, maybe I can help? Misa's happiness is like the flu: it's infectious, only there's no shot for it, but it's more pleasant. So, who is he?"

"…You'll see."

Twenty blocks and a few turns later, Erin pulled up into a baking parking lot. Misa surveyed the stark, box-shaped building with a slight apprehensive tremor.

"Wh-why are we at the jailhouse? Does your friend work here as a cop?"

Erin undid her seat belt and got out. "Eh, not exactly. He's here, but…"

She trailed off. Maybe this wasn't a good idea to bring Misa? But, if she hadn't brought her…

It took Misa a few beats to piece it together. When she did, her hand clapped over her mouth, her face blanching. "Erin, h—how could you? Why _would _you? This guy broke into your apartment and tried to rob you at knife-point! A-and now you want to stop in and have tea with him or something? I don't understand you!"

Erin's smile was sheepish, as it normally was. "Sometimes I don't get you either, but I still love you. Look, I know it seems a little strange, but I just wanna talk to Miguel."

Misa was almost horrified. Erin was actually calling this bastard by name. Did she know him better than she'd let on? "Is he some crazy ex-boyfriend you didn't tell me about? Did you come here to post bail?"

"What? _No, _that's not it!" Erin hurried alongside the car and up to the building, compelling Misa to chase after her. "The cops told me his name, and before that, he told me it after I tied him up. Of course, I'm not bailing him out. Wouldn't have the money for it even if I wanted to. I just want to talk to him. I want to know why he did it. I certainly would like an apology. And…maybe if there's anything I can do to help him—"

"I don't know if you can," muttered Misa.

Erin sighed. "He didn't seem like a hardened criminal to me. Foul-mouthed, but not hard-boiled. The way he pulled it off…it was sloppy. I might not have been able to take him on if he was an expert. A savvy burglar wouldn't have even bothered to try a place like mine. He probably hasn't been doing this for a long time. Might be after money or something, you know, to pay off bills and stuff. I think there's still hope for guys like him."

"How do you know that?"

"I don't. I'm guessing. That's why I'm going to talk to him. Come on Misa, you took Kimiko back, didn't you?"

…

Misa stopped in her tracks. Erin stopped with her, just as they were about to cross through the automatic doors. Her honey eyes trailed down to her bare toes poking out of her sandals. She had painted them creamy apricot. Tamura had been very sloppy, himself. Despite having seen him in the act, they'd never exchanged a direct word to each other. What would be the point? _He_ wasn't sorry for what he did, she could tell just from the look in his eyes. He might have killed her too, if she hadn't made all the commotion she had.

In secret, she used to wonder whether that would have been such a bad thing.

"Yeah. I did. But that's different. Kimi's my sister, and she was sorry for what she did."

Not to mention, Kimi could barely see the nose in front of her anymore.

"Well, maybe Miguel's sorry, too? Don't get me wrong, I still think he should answer for what he did, but if there's anything I can do to help him so that he'll be less inclined to do this again, pull himself outta the hole before it gets any deeper…well then, that's something, ain't it?"

Misa bit back something that felt a bit like a smile, but she couldn't be sure if it was real. It also felt like a frown, didn't feel natural. Erin hadn't changed much apart from getting braver since the Kira case, as a writer and as a person. She hadn't lost her faith in people, or at least she had found it again with a renewed strength. They were still friends.

Misa didn't know whether Erin was a saint or a fool. Then again, who was she to judge? _Hello, Kettle. I'm Pot. You're black. _

She didn't respond, not with words, at least. What could she say? Turning up her nose, she strode past Erin and crossed over the threshold the instant the glass doors swished open for her. Erin followed suit, at an equal loss for words. Or at least words that wouldn't sound condescending or swollen.

Misa was only _learning _to forgive, after all. Oh hell, so was she. So was everyone. The only worthwhile lessons that weren't painful were the ones from Sesame Street™.

A stout lady-cop manned the front desk, her hair tucked into a tight bun. She had just hung up the phone as the two approached. "How can I help you today?" she asked flatly, a glazed look on her face the product of many years of late, often hectic, often violent, some very dark nights.

Erin cleared her throat and smiled politely. "Hi, we're here to see Miguel Mora? This is the jail he's staying at, right?"

…

"Are you here to post bail?"

"No, ma'am. We just came to visit."

"Are you friends of his?"

"Yes, you could call us that."

Behind Erin, Misa shook her head, shivers rattling through her, in part due to the Arctic blast of the AC, her attire unfit for the sudden chill.

The cop took a breath, as though she couldn't believe that someone like Miguel Mora could have friends. A shame that their help had come too late. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you can't see Mr. Mora."

"Huh? What do you mean? Is there a process we have to go through to see him?"

"He's not here, anymore." For some reason, Erin didn't like the way she said this. Like something had just happened to him. Something bad.

"Was he transferred?"

…

"He's dead. Last night. A heart attack, from what I understand. I'm so sorry."


	3. Denial

_**Disclaimer! **_**All fictional entities featured/ mentioned in this segment belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata; except Erin Blogger and a few extra characters not from the canon cast, who I made up for the purpose of this fan fiction. Any other unfamiliar names may be either other original characters or allusions to real-life people. **

_**3. Denial**_

It couldn't be. This couldn't possibly be Kira. Could it? Kira—Light had been gone for almost four years now, though his influence could still be felt in many parts. They had all watched him die, that fateful stormy November morning. Since then, no more criminals had died for their crimes. Not with heart attacks, at least. The world had more or less gone back to where it was when Light had started his crusade.

Then how did Miguel Mora die? And why? It wasn't unusual for inmates to beat each other within inches of their lives, or for some to try taking their own lives, or in some places to just get really sick—a wretched reality as this was—but a heart attack? Maybe for someone older with heart problems, but a lean healthy twenty-year-old?

Compared to the criminals Light targeted, Mora was so small-time. Why would Kira bother with a petty criminal?

Erin clonked her forehead. _No. Light couldn't have done this. He's dead. This wasn't Kira, at least not the one we knew. _

She closed her throbbing eyes, taking a break from hours of drilling holes into the laptop screen. All was dark, the lights off so as not to disturb her hostesses, and she had draped a sheet over herself and her laptop. The tiny clock on the lower-right corner of the screen read 12:07. After the day's events, sleep had run off to Vegas without leaving as much as a note.

Was it possible that Ryuk had returned to the human world for some more "fun?" Or was it one of his buddies who had dropped their notebook to see who would use it, to replicate the experiment, so to speak?

_How do I even know that a person did this? This is only one death. What if it was just a random shinigami who was looking for someone to kill, and Miguel just happened to be the poor sap he'd picked? It's not like real shinigami discriminate when it comes to this sort of thing…do they? _

Her fist clenched around the lukewarm Diet Coke™ can, the pliable aluminum crinkling under her fingers. _Damn it! You couldn't wait until he got his life back on track, let him enjoy the time he had left first? You couldn't wait until he at least had his hearing? _

She didn't know who "you" was, exactly. Fate? A shinigami? A new Kira? Something, or someone, had killed Miguel Mora. Though Misa had done her best to hold her tongue on the matter, Erin could tell that Misa thought she was crazy for mourning over a burglar who had attacked her and Lawliet in their own home. Maybe she was? But, Miguel hadn't deserved to _die. _

With all the tricks Light had pulled off with the notebook and shinigami in the past, she could find little certainty in any of it, if there was any certainty to be had. Should she call up Matsuda and the gang over in Japan and tell them? Then what, send them on a wild-goose chase through a country they didn't even have jurisdiction over?

_All right, cool it, Erin. First thing you should do is make absolute damn sure that somebody killed Miguel with a notebook. Or even that a fucking notebook was involved, at all. _

Every investigation needed a starting point. In this case…

_I should check for more recent stories about criminals dying, especially of heart attacks. _

Reaching out from under the sheet to toss the emptied can into the wastebasket she had moved next to her, she typed the key words into the search engine with bated breath, afraid of what she'd get. What if the police had cut down on allowing access to information such as the deaths of criminals? Then again, maybe not. They hadn't stopped the media from announcing when criminals had been arrested or were on trial. Nothing was more important than public safety.

At first the engine came up with either stories on criminal deaths from years ago or links to websites or articles on Kira. Some of them were critical, but an alarming number of them were addled with praise for the mysterious vigilante/ god incarnation. She couldn't help but notice an online version of an essay she'd once written on why the death penalty should be abolished. Among other things, the money spent on capital punishment could be better used for solving and preventing crime, and towards criminal rehabilitation and prison reform. It had been used unfairly against poor criminals or those from minority groups. Besides, it just seemed like a barbaric way to dole out justice, not to mention pointless.

She had to admit, she may not have stayed completely neutral and non-preachy when she'd written it. She always did have trouble with that.

_**Where is the justness of avenging a life by taking another one? It doesn't mend the damage done; if anything, it adds to it. Another family must mourn a loss, and the victim's family has to go on anyway without them. Even the executioners have to live with the guilt of carrying out the job they are given. **_

She cringed when she clicked on the link and saw at the bottom of the page that comment-posting had been disabled. It had been a rather…polarizing paper, as most articles on hot topics were. She did have a few who agreed with her, but some…

_**You're either a saint (or at least think yourself as one) or terribly naïve. Justice has nothing to do with "mending;" it's about **_**A**_**mending. It's about giving everyone what they deserve. Have you ever lost a loved one to some deranged psychopath, or had someone completely rob you of your sense of security? Some are beyond rehabilitation, and to be perfectly frank, I'd rather that those people not breathe the same air that the rest of us do. The prisons are over-crowded and living off our tax dollars; why not make some space? **_

Ah, the joys of the Internet, where you can say whatever you like and not have to worry about getting a foot shoved up your ass. This one comment in particular stood out in her mind, though she knew that it was, just like her view on the matter, only an opinion and like assholes everyone had opinions, all full of crap. Erin couldn't be sure whether comments like this one were from Kira supporters or just really cynical saps, and to assume anything would be profiling. Or maybe this person was angry and just had to vent?

_Oh, believe me. I've met a few monsters in my life. _

Erin shook her head. She didn't have time to ponder on this now. She hastily clicked the "Back" arrow and returned to the search engine. Then, she clicked "Newest."

Her worst fears seemed to spring out of the monitor and grab her by the throat, their grip cold and crushing. Her hands shook as she pulled out her pen and notebook, the pale glow from the screen like electric candlelight casting off the notes she scribbled into the pages.

_Miguel Mora, 20, charged with armed robbery and drug possession with the intention to sell, August 10, LA, jail, heart attack. _

Drug possession? This was new. Apparently, the police had searched his place and found pounds of coke and weed packed everywhere where a man could hide coke and weed in his home, all worth a few thousand dollars. Was he selling these drugs for someone, or had he bought them for himself? Had his death had anything to do with the drugs?

They had made this discovery just a day before Miguel had collapsed in his cell…

_What if his dealers have a notebook, and they used it to kill him as soon as they found out he'd been busted before the cops could question him about the drugs…? _

She shivered in spite of the heat coursing through her. People killing people over money, to avoid getting caught…not an unfamiliar concept, but it never failed to curdle the Coke simmering in her stomach. What happened to people to get them thinking that this was a viable way to live?

It wasn't impossible. But again, this was only one death. For all she knew, Miguel liked to get high on his supply and had had a heart attack from the side-effects of the coke, combined with the stress of getting busted.

Although as close as she'd gotten to him, she hadn't seen any signs of addiction. Well, the corners of his mouth twitched a bit, and his pupils were dilated, but that could've been anything. After all, he'd been trying to rob her and she was beating the snot out of him with a Louisville slugger. Things were moving too quickly for her to get a close look at him.

She moved on to another entry, and another, and another still, feeling a notch sicker with every piece of new information.

_Rally Stins, 31, charged with assault and battery, July 30, LA, jail, heart attack. _

_Kelsey Bir, 26, charged with embezzlement, July 27, LA, jail, heart attack. _

_Daniel Elt, 34, charged with attempted murder and conspiracy to commit murder, June 5, LA, jail, heart attack. _

These were only known dead criminals, at that. The ones who'd had heart attacks. The notebook could be used to control its victims' actions and have them croak in other ways, too. In other places, other times. A bank robber in Phoenix—Stanley Klister, 28—had inexplicably shot himself during a shoot-out with the police on August 2. Eerily enough, so did all of his accomplices. A call girl in Las Vegas—Elsa Veel, 22—had hung herself just before her appearance in court on June 15. Still, another man while resisting arrest was struck by a car in Sacramento on May 31.

Jesus Christ. Miguel's death hadn't been the first one. Nor would it likely be the last, not unless whoever was carrying out these murders was caught and the notebook destroyed. It seemed so far that most of these deaths were concentrated in the southwestern region of the United States. All of the victims were criminals, mixed in gender and ethnicity, though more victims were male, most spanning from their early 20s to middle 40s in age. But the dates…they were so erratic, as were the locations and conditions of death. Maybe this explained why the press hadn't made such a big stink about it as they used to when Kira was up and about? The police wouldn't likely find a connection between all these, either. Also, these criminals were more or less minor compared to the ones Kira tackled.

But the Kira forums…the forums were abuzz again with excitement. As much as she hated to admit it, Light had made an impressive impact on the world in spite of his short time in it. In the year he had spent killing criminals he had left a mark that probably would never completely go away. She wondered what he would think about all of this if he could see for himself. Whether he would feel regret about being remembered as a crazy serial killer, or pleased that cults had risen up to place him on the pedestal of a god.

She shuddered to think of what he could and might have done had he had more time.

Kira had indeed garnered a few followers from the States, who had posted the news on many of these deaths and attributed them as signs of Kira's second coming. With a medium as global as the Internet, it wouldn't take long for followers in Japan and other countries to learn of them and rekindle their faith. Like kids anticipating a snow day after seeing just a few flakes fall from the sky.

Erin feared that she hadn't even begun to scrape the surface.

_There's gotta be _some _sort of connection between them. This can't all just be coincidence, as tempting as it is to call it that. I need more background. But how can I get that? The cops might have more info on these guys…but would they be willing to share that with little ol' me? I'd have to talk to the LA police, the Phoenix police, the Las Vegas police…_

After four years there were still no Pulitzer Prizes™ on her shelf. She had yet to monumentally change the world with her hard-hitting journalism, but focused mostly on local stories about people doing good for others, and occasionally posted profiles for the animal shelter about pets that were up for adoption. There was already so much bad news in the world; there should be a balance. For her article about the death penalty she had done all the research and interviewed a few prison personnel, a few lawyers and actual prisoners, but that had so far been the biggest project in her career and had taken quite a bit out of her. No awards were tossed her way for it. She managed to keep a roof over her head and food in her and Lawliet's mouths, but her name hadn't gotten much bigger since she'd graduated.

Not that she cared about fame, but sometimes she wondered how useful it would be if she was more like Hersh™ or Berstein and Woodward™. Or Lois Lane™.

Sometimes she wondered if she really was as intrepid as she liked to think herself. Or whether her adventure in Japan had deprived her of her teeth and claws. She would've thought that it had _given _her teeth and claws. And maybe it did. They had simply been cut.

_Forget it. That's not important right now. _

Her eyes were sore. She closed them, laying her head on top of the open pages of the notebook. Just a quick break. What a terrible wedge to be stuck in, between the soft lull of sleep and the jittery call of caffeine and adrenaline marching through her system. Together they switched the signs directing her path of thought, leaving her mind to wander without real aim.

_I wonder if the guys can lend a hand. Probably, but they're in Japan. This is America. They can't ask for information from a police force in a different country if it's not relevant to them…can they…? _

Man, L had had it so easy. He didn't belong to any police force, and yet had the power to bend any one across the world to his will. Diplomatic immunity to the nth power. No questions asked.

…Well, maybe not completely "no questions asked." Just because he helped solve the cases, didn't mean that the cops liked him. So sure it was easy, but superficially so.

She didn't freak out anymore when she thought about him, but when she did, she often still felt a twinge of sadness. A douchebag though he was, he'd had such a hard-knock life, from what she knew about him. One that he'd had to have stepped into willingly, but hard-knock all the same. What on earth would compel anyone to become something like the world's greatest detective, she probably would never fully understand. It made about as much sense as wanting to be "god of the new world." Even with all its perks, was it worth it in the long run? She needed only to look as far as L to doubt this, a fact that she didn't appreciate until after his passing. There had been no twenty-one guns or bugle taps. No one besides them even knew that he was gone, like a nameless soldier killed in action, or worse, gone missing.

A soldier. A detective. A doctor, a lawyer, a leader, even. Why would anyone want jobs like these? Maybe not all motives were right or noble, but still the results yielded were more or less the same, and the salary huge. Lives benefited at the expense of the benefactor, often without thanks. Probably because for them to do their job (_someone _had to do them, right?), they had to screw over other people, and even themselves at times…

Maybe that explained why those kinds of jobs paid the most. As compensation.

_Some are beyond rehabilitation, and to be perfectly frank, I'd rather that those people not breathe the same air that the rest of us do…_

By the time Erin woke up again, it was 9:16, and someone was pounding on her door with unusual strength for someone her size. "Erin! Hey Erin, ya up?"

She woke with a start, nearly rolling off the bed. On instinct she closed the laptop and slapped the notebook shut. Misa didn't need to know what she was up to. In fact, she needed to stay as far away from this monkey business as possible. Besides, with her memory wiped, Misa couldn't help her even if she wanted her to.

After wrestling herself free from the tangle of sheets, she snapped the rubber bands around the book and crammed it into her bag. "H-hang on, I'm coming!"

She shoved the bag underneath her bed before stumbling to the door, her head light from having gotten up too fast and aching. Wiping the crud at the corners of her mouth and eyes, she unlocked the door and peeked out through the crack at a smiling Misa, looking pretty and ready for the day, having had the time to freshen up.

"Mornin', Misa," she greeted, her words half-groggy.

"Gosh Erin, you look horrible," chided Misa, leaning in for a closer look at the bags under her eyes. "Did you sleep okay last night?"

"I-I slept well enough."

"Why was your door locked?"

"Oh y'know, I'm working on the next great American novel. I need solitude when I write, and I don't want anyone to see it 'til it's done. Once I get started it's nose to the grindstone no matter what time it is."

"I thought you said you slept well?"

"I slept well, not long. Ugh, can't even remember when I went to bed…"

"Well, it's okay if you wanna go back to sleep. Except it's such a nice day out and shooting starts today. I was hoping you'd come with us."

Erin pressed her cheek against the cold door, slumping against it as she tried to fight back sleep. "Uh, I-I'd love to, Mis, except…ugh…"

"No, no, it's okay! Go back to sleep. I've gotta drop off Kimi so she can have her interview, and then I'll be gone for a couple of hours." Back when Misa and Light were together, she had considered retiring from the model biz so she could spend more time with him, after the case was solved, of course. But then Kimiko moved back into her life—and Light, out of it—and with her handicap and records, there weren't many jobs she could do besides bagging groceries and the like. So Misa had decided to keep advancing her career, for both of them.

Nevertheless, Kimi insisted on working. She refused to freeload off her rich and famous younger sister and besides would go crazy from having nothing to do.

"Will you be okay here by yourself?"

"Oh sure, sure. I've lived alone before, it's no big deal. Actually, I won't really be alone if I've got Lawliet here." She shook her head, chuckling, "Man, I can only imagine how Hideki's putting up with you not being there with him in Japan. Hey, how is he, anyway?"

Misa shrugged. "Doing well for himself, I guess."

"What d'ya mean, you guess? You keep in touch, don't you?"

"We broke up before Kimi and I left Japan."

"Wh-what? You guys broke up? Why? It looked like things were going great for you two."

"Eh, good, but I wouldn't call it great."

"What d'ya mean? The Misa I know would at least try to make a long-distance relationship work."

After Light passed away, it had taken over a year before Misa would consider finding someone new. But none of the men she'd dated since then had stuck. She was like Japan's answer to Taylor Swift™. They've said that nothing compares to your first love. As perfect as Light was, the next guy had some mighty big shoes to fill.

From the sound of it not even Hideki Ryuga, who had lasted the longest, was good enough, despite being a heartthrob and an idol like Misa. "We lost that spark, even before I landed this deal. He's actually dumber than me, if you can believe it. He had the gall to forget my birthday, last year."

"Your birthday's on Christmas, right? He didn't like, give you a present or anything?"

Misa scoffed, "Oh, he gave me a present, a pretty choker necklace. But only for Christmas. He didn't wish me Happy Birthday or acknowledge that it was."

…

"Wow. I'm sorry, Misa, but that's a pretty dumb reason to dump someone. If forgetting somebody's birthday was enough grounds to dump someone, my folks would have split up before I was ever born."

Misa waved at her. "Don't be silly, we didn't break up over _that! _I would call that the first domino."

"Aw Misa, I've lost count of how many men it's been now. I think you're too concerned with finding a guy who has all the qualities you want in a boyfriend. All of them. You're looking for Mr. Perfect, that's what I think your problem is. Doesn't matter how nice the guy is. If he lacks one thing, or he has this one little annoying habit or something, you toss him back without a second thought."

"Hmph, I want Mr. Right, not Mr. Perfect! And like you can talk! How's _your_ love life been lately, huh? I haven't heard about any special someones on your end."

Erin peered down at her sock-feet. She could whiff that funky cottage cheese smell from here, the smell feet got when one had her socks on for too long. Truth be told, she hadn't tried dating in…well, ever. She could be friends with guys just fine, and she'd had her share of crushes that never went anywhere and were eventually forgotten, but dating…

She only had her insecurities to blame. The closest she'd gotten was a guy she'd met while she was still living in New York, Steve, a tall dark handsome blue-eyed devil in her humble opinion (well, _devil _might be a stretch, there were men who were more distinctively bad-boyish). But all they did was shoot the breeze over coffee after work or on the weekends. She never got the frijoles to ask him out for real. And he couldn't have been interested in her in that way since he didn't ask her out, either.

…Unless he was the shy type too, but she didn't get that impression from their not-dates. Not that it mattered, now. She was here in LA, he was somewhere across the country doing God-knows-what, it wasn't likely they'd see each other again soon.

"I've been kinda busy so—"

"Nonsense! If Misa's not too busy to date, there's no reason why Erin could be too busy for it."

…

"Misa, don't you have someplace to go?" Just like old times.

"That's right. Don't wanna be late! We'll talk about this later. Later I want to take us all out to see that neat Chinese theater with all the handprints in front of it. See ya!" With a wave of her fingers, Misa turned to toddle down the stairs, her hair bouncing behind her as she hopped down each step.

_Right, Grauman's. _

Erin shut the door and slid down it under she sank to the floor, raking her fingers through her mussed hair.

It was strange. Misa didn't find it freaky that Miguel had died of a heart attack? If she had, she'd kept this to herself. Perhaps in her mind it didn't matter how or why; Miguel had gotten what he'd deserved and that was all that mattered.

…

No.

Erin hugged her knees. There was _no way _Misa could be behind this. Maybe she just hadn't said anything because she hadn't wanted to upset her more than she already was and start another argument. She was at least past _this_ much, worshipping Kira, killing in his name. She didn't have her memories, and she couldn't possibly have a notebook. Misa wouldn't be so dumb as to let Erin have free range of the place if she had a notebook.

If it was in the house, at least…

Erin rattled some sense into her head. _Stop! I still don't know if the deaths are all murders committed by the same person, and not just coincidences that the Kira fanatics are interpreting as Kira's doing. Let's start with that. If it was really Misa, she wouldn't stop at just one…_

_STOP IT, I said! Leave Misa out of this! _

She blew a lock of hair out of her face. _Maybe I _should _call Matsu and the gang? At the very least, they can point me in the right direction. _

Wait. Maybe not _call _them. She didn't have the money to jack up her phone bill for a long-distance call, and she wasn't about to stick Misa with the tab. Would Misa get suspicious if she got a bill for a call to Japan? Maybe not, since Erin would be calling mutual friends of theirs.

There was still the chance of being overheard…

She glanced up towards the camera looming in the corner of the ceiling, suddenly able to feel its gaze creeping across her skin. Even if it was just a security cam, it made her skin crawl. She couldn't do anything with these things watching her. That's why she'd resigned to do her research from under the blankets the night before.

She closed her eyes in meditation, making a tilting gesture over her head as though she were wearing her hat and tucking it over her face.

_All right, wait. I think I'm getting something…_

…

This girl sure was acting peculiar. After filling her cat's bowls with fresh food and water and cleaning his litter box—or "minefield," as she christened it—she had gone outside onto the patio in the backyard with her laptop. To work more on the "next great American novel," should he assume?

Whatever her motives, she had chosen to work on the patio, the spot with the least surveillance. She'd picked a blind spot. Or so she'd think. It was unlikely she noticed the bug planted in the corner over her head. She had her back to him, sitting in the lawn chair stooped over her laptop. She had tilted the screen towards her, giving him little more to see than a corner of the screen. From what he could see, she had gone on the Internet. That overhyped social networking site Facebook™.

He zoomed in for a closer look at the page. It looked like she was messaging someone. One of her "friends."

…

Huh? What was that name? Touta M—

_Touta Matsuda? _

Wasn't that one of the detectives who had worked on the task force investigating Kira? Light Yagami, the suspect, was the son of then-Deputy Director of the Japanese NPA, Soichiro Yagami. From there, it hadn't taken much to trace who else had been involved on the same task force. Hirokazu Ukita had been killed by the Second Kira, but the rest of them had survived, although due to the (hardly surprising) nosedive his health had taken after the case, Yagami was forced to retire early. Shuichi Aizawa had since taken his place as Deputy Director.

Was she talking to the same Matsuda who had worked on the case? What for? He couldn't see his entire name, and there were many "Touta M"s in the world. Besides, this was Facebook™; it wasn't unusual to become online pen pals with people across the pond from you, despite having never met. It wasn't a requirement to have shared a traumatic experience beforehand.

…

_Come on, move over. Just a little. _

Erin Blogger. L had made no mention of her in his files, and yet according to their "reliable source," she had been directly involved in the case. At the very least, she was studying in Japan when the Kira case had taken full flight. According to her barely legally attained records, her grades had dropped, and a few months after coming back to New York, she'd had a nervous breakdown during an internship.

The way she was acting now, he couldn't help but wonder whether she had ever completely recovered from whatever had happened to her.

This girl was a journalist. If it was true that she had gotten in on the investigation, the fact that she hadn't tried to sell her story after coming back to America was no small wonder.

His smirk was both pitying and cynical. _Then again, she probably kept quiet about it because she didn't think anyone would believe her even if she did say something, not with all the Kira-related trash popping up in the media. Maybe she didn't think it was worth the trouble it would've caused…or the cops paid her a pretty penny to keep quiet, whatever comes first. _

_But that depends on whether our source is telling the truth to begin with…_

From what he'd heard, some guy, Miguel Mora, had tried to rob her, and just yesterday she'd gone to see him in jail only to find out that Mora had croaked.

…

_Does she smell foul play? Gonna be hard proving that some guy's heart attack was an act of murder. If she's writing to Detective Matsuda, she probably wants to tell him about it. Kind of stupid to talk about something like that online though, isn't it? Especially in a public forum like Facebook™. Then again…_

Sighing, he reached for the half-full pack of Malboros™ and the lighter next to it. He'd been watching this stupid house for days—even if it was a house full of chicks, and to his disappointment it wasn't as entertaining as they made it look on reality TV—and his eyes throbbed from the strain produced by both the darkness of the room and the brightness of the monitors. He personally doubted Blogger could cause them that much trouble, as clueless and scared as she looked. It was almost a shame to drag her back into this.

And even if she reached them, what could the task force do? They were in Japan. This was America. The killings weren't happening in their country this time. From what he knew so far.

But at the same time, could he just pretend that he hadn't seen anything that could be important?

"Not for nothing, but I think you should tell him."

The young man bit back a groan. Oh, great.

He didn't look back as the skeletal creature passed through the wall, unable to be bothered with the door, never mind knocking. Why was it that even though Matt wasn't the one who this thing possessed, he insisted on bugging him anyway? Lumen seemed to live on reactions, like an obnoxious brat looking for attention. He had thought that the less he reacted to the thing, the less inclined he'd be to bother him.

Unless Lumen had somehow seen through his indifference. Though he had been the first of his kind that they had encountered, he'd seemed smarter than the average shinigami, or at least the kind that L had described. Or at least, Lumen was less afraid to flaunt this. He wandered the place like he owned it, much like the person he was attached to.

"Did you hear me? You should say something. You oughta know that if somebody looks like they'll give you trouble, chances are they will."

A shinigami telling him what to do, something he'd already know…what a world.

"You're not talking to me on purpose."

He slipped the goggles over his eyes, like putting on a shade to shut out everything except the patio in front of him, and the cigarette and lighter in his hands. Erin had probably finished whatever she was doing, because now she was closing her laptop, reaching to wipe the sweat condensing on her forehead and neck.

Shit. What had she messaged Touta? Fucking shinigami. Couldn't keep his mouth shut when it counted.

Lumen's burning eyes fell on the open bag of potato chips by the ashtray. Salt and vinegar, ridged. With a wide, wicked toothy grin, he snatched up the bag, held it high in the air clutched in his bony paws and dumped the greasy chips into his open jaws. Matt resisted the urge to cringe as he listened to Lumen's loud, piggish chews and grunts.

Those had been his chips.

Lumen suddenly gagged in disgust, spitting the chips out onto the floor in a mound of spit and chewed-up potatoes. "What kind of chips are these? Consomme's better than this."

He was also quite spoiled. The thing had nurtured a fondness for potato chips, particularly of the consomme variety. The kind that they could only get from Japan, at that. It had been insisted that they have the exotic chips shipped directly from the country on a regular basis. He had once questioned the rationality of buying junk food from across the world that they could get more easily from the convenience store in town, only to be met with,

"_We'll give Lumen whatever he wants, within reason. This way we can ensure that he'll stay loyal to us and help whenever we need it. Besides, my chocolate comes from Denmark and Belgium and I've never heard you complain about that." _

He couldn't decide whether or not it was fortunate that Lumen had a short wish list: consomme potato chips and some "entertainment."

Lumen tossed his mane, snorting, "I'm gonna look for some _good _chips. But seriously, you should tell him about this. I'll pass the word on, if you can't." He began his passage back through the walls like a complacent cat who had just coughed up a hairball, not sparing one glimpse towards the mess he'd spat up on the floor.

Normally shinigami couldn't care less about human affairs. But in this case, Lumen wanted to keep the entertainment going for as long as possible, by whatever means.

…

Erin could've sworn her head was this close to twisting off her shoulders from all the times she'd kept looking all around her, like an abused action figure having its head snap off. Why was she suddenly getting so paranoid? It'd been so long since she felt this way, and how she hated the feeling. The feeling that you weren't safe in your own country, your own home.

No one was watching her. They couldn't be. They had no reason to. Nobody knew what she knew, or what she was up to. She was just mailing a greeting card to her pals from across the Pacific. That's all. That was as much business as they had to know.

So why had she written her heartfelt message to them with that invisible ink pen Farley had gotten her for her birthday back in April ("So you can tell your boss what you _really _think of him on his Boss's Day card," he'd explained with an impish grin)? It wasn't like someone was going to intercept it and look at what she'd written. Right? What reason would they have to do that?

So Erin kept telling herself, but it wasn't enough to stop her from using the nifty pen, and then writing over her message with an ordinary pen, pouring out the usual sentiment one would put into a "thinking of you, missing you much" Hallmark™ card.

After the post office, she stopped by the nursing home and asked to see Mrs. Mora. Miguel's obituary had mentioned how he was survived by his mother who lived in the facility. Maybe she could ask her a few questions about Miguel, get some kind of lead on who might've wanted to kill him.

She came to the front desk with a small bouquet of daisies. "Hi, I'm Erin, I'm a friend of Mrs. Mora's." This technically was not a lie, in a vague cosmic sense, at least. "Is she around? I came to see her."

The charge nurse looked her over with a quirked eyebrow. "Well, I suppose. She hasn't mentioned anything about having a friend named Erin…but then, she's not really all there, these days. It's hard to tell what or who she still remembers."

"Y-yeah," she answered, finding something a bit distasteful about a nurse calling one of her charges "not really all there." Even if it was true, that didn't sound like something a nurse should say in front of family or friends.

Mrs. Mora was a short Latina woman with squinty eyes and wiry grey hair tied into a braid, her thin copper skin rippling with age. She was sitting outside, basking in the shade under a tree. Every now and then she licked her dry, cracked lips as though she were catching sunlight on her face and licking it up like melting butter. She looked like a gleeful, half-toothless child wrapped in a Mexican shawl of intricate, colorful design that seemed too big for her, especially in this heat. Attached to her wheelchair was an oxygen tank, around her face a nasal cannula.

"Señora Mora, it's a little hot to be wearing a shawl, isn't it?" asked Erin, feeling a bit funny about talking to a stranger as though they had been neighbors for many years. Would Mrs. Mora be lucid enough to talk about her son?

Did she even know what had happened to him? She seemed too happy for someone who had just lost a son.

"_¡Oye, chica! _I so happy to see you, Jimena! _¿Cómo estás?_"

Jimena? Who was that? A sister? A daughter? A girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend of Miguel's? Mrs. Mora was obviously confusing her with someone else. But how was she to tell her this? She was already starting to feel bad, for both coming here and for the woman herself. What kind of life was it when you couldn't remember where you were or who your loved ones were, or even who _you _were? Even bad memories were better than no memories at all. With no memories, you might as well have never lived.

She cleared her throat, racking her brain for the appropriate Spanish words by which to reply. _"Muy bien, gracias, Señora Mora," _she answered with a smile.

"No, no! Call me _Abuela, chica, por favor! _Like always! When you a' Miguel get married an' have _muchos bebés_, I be _Abuela!_"

Erin didn't know whether to blush or give the woman a hug. She felt so sorry for her. When Mrs. Mora motioned her to lean in closer, Erin complied to be met with a brief hug around her neck and a smack on the air around her right cheek. She smelled funny, in the way only old ladies smelled, like powder and wool and potpourri and instant hospital food. Not to mention, her breath wasn't the most pleasant. Erin held her breath until Mrs. Mora let go.

She blinked as she inhaled deeply through her nostrils. "Uhm…I brought some flowers. They're daisies. Here." She placed the bouquet in the woman's eager lap.

"_¡Ah, flores, son hermosas! _They beautiful! _¡Muchas gracias, Jimena!_" She reached out for her again to kiss her. How could Erin refuse?

"D-_de nada. _They're from, uh, Miguel and me. _Son de Miguel y yo._"

"Oh, when's that boy going'oo come see his _mamí, _huh? _¿Cuándo se viene?_ Is been so long since he saw me. Couldn' he come today?"

Erin couldn't help but notice the anxious glance a nurse was passing her from out of the corner of her eye as she wheeled an old man out onto the patio. It didn't take much to figure what for. Erin couldn't bear to be the one to tell this poor woman that her son was never coming to see her again.

She scratched the back of her neck. "Well…he couldn't come today. I'm sorry, _lo siento. _He promises that he'll come another day, though, _alguna vez._"

Mrs. Mora's face fell a bit, the flaps on her face making her face look like a pug's. "Oh. Well, tell him to hurry! _¡Date prisa! _Is so lonely here, I miss him so much. Him a' Felipe."

Felipe…Miguel's brother? Was he gone, too?

Erin wanted to leave as soon as possible, but after that soft lonely proclamation, she couldn't. She stayed to chat with Mrs. Mora for maybe an hour about just short of everything under the sun, mostly about their home country and her boys Felipe and Miguel and how good they were to her, except that they didn't come "home" often to see her (despite the fact that Jimena would probably know this herself, but such was the thought process of many patients like Mrs. Mora). She didn't seem to know what exactly kept them away from her—only that she called it "doing God's work"—but whatever they were doing, they shouldn't be so busy that they couldn't see their _mamí _once in a while.

Erin let Mrs. Mora drive the conversation; it was easier that way. When the woman finally began to look tired, Erin offered to take her back inside where it was cooler. In a moment of weakness, she promised to come back to see her. Should she have done that? Maybe Mrs. Mora—_Abuela_—would forget about her as soon as she left? All the same, she swallowed down the lump in her throat.

It made her think about her own parents. They were both still alive and well, especially with her and Farley out of the nest while they still had a few non-gray hairs, but what about when they got older? Would they lose their minds like Mrs. Mora? Not everyone lost it as they got older, but would _they? _

"I'm guessing she doesn't know yet," she muttered to the nurse. "Miguel, he's…"

"I know. It's better not to tell someone with dementia when a loved one has passed away. You should've seen the reaction she had when someone made the mistake of telling her about Felipe back in February." The nurse massaged her temples. "Sounded like her boys were always in trouble, everyone could see it but her. But you should know that, already. Guess it was only a matter of time…"

…_before they ended up as cold bodies in the gutter. _

Erin's gut knotted itself so tightly, it felt like it would explode. February? Had this been going on since February, or even earlier? "Wh-what kinda trouble d'you mean?"

The nurse snorted, "Oi, what _weren't _they getting into? Drugs, assault…Felipe was the worse of the two. And then Miguel goes and robs someone and ends up dead in jail, just like his brother."

"H-he never told me that. He seemed like a nice guy, if a little rough around the edges." Could that be considered a lie?

The nurse shook her head, her bun bobbing on top of her head. "We live in a world where almost nothing is as it seems."

A world where nothing is as it seems. It wasn't the first time someone told her this, and the guy who had wasn't exactly what he'd appeared to be, himself.

"_You should never assume that you 'know' people. They can always catch you unawares…" _

…

But Erin didn't like the thought of such absolute uncertainty about even the ones closest to her. Okay, so everyone had some good _and _bad in them, and everyone had their secrets, she had seen that for herself. But to not know people _at all? _Like they were little more than shadows dancing on her walls at night as she lay awake, waiting for sleep to take over?

No, surely there was _some _sort of certainty to this world, to people. Like…life is full of uncertainty. Yes, that was a fact in itself. Can't spell "life" without "if." And people were crazy, one way or another. Good and bad in all of them. And…life was finite. That was also true, unfortunately. Shinigami lived in a world beyond theirs, fickle and compelled to take lives through writing names in a magic notebook. Was life finite because of them, or was life always finite regardless? If people were capable of killing each other or themselves, then probably not. Shinigami couldn't be held responsible for _every_ death. Erin didn't think that Shinigami were that creative with how they killed when it was easier to just write down names with no details, kill their victims with heart attacks.

Well, most of them, anyway.

Was somebody out there with a notebook, using it to either pick up where Light had left off or for his or her own purposes? That was the million-dollar question, now. Were Miguel and Felipe killed by the same person? According to what she could find online, Felipe Mora got in a scuffle with an inmate, and then some of the other guy's buddies ganged up on him and ended up beating him to death.

But the Death Note could control someone's actions, how they died. Maybe it couldn't make someone kill someone else directly, but could it be used to make someone die from their injuries? She couldn't see why not. If it could make someone get sick, have an accident or have them kill themselves…

In spite of the heat wave, she began to shiver. _Guys, I hope that card finds you well…_

"Are you all right, Erin?" asked Kimiko alongside her. "You've been rather quiet."

"Huh? Oh sorry, I was just, uh, thinking about what sort of things we should get for the party and all."

"Ah, I see. Misa can't wait for this thing; it's all she's been talking about besides that movie she's working on. It is a good way to get acquainted with people…"

"You sound kinda apprehensive about it."

Kimiko shrugged, keeping her eyes to the ground. "I can't say that I'm not. I mean, we don't know anyone here. How do we tell the good from the bad people? The last thing I want is for Misa to get mixed in with the wrong crowd."

"Well, Americans aren't that different from Japanese. They're both people. We're just louder, more overbearing. N-not trying to stereotype here, mind you! I mean, just judge them the same way you would anyone else back home," said Erin, almost flippantly, though unintentionally so.

"Hm. And then there's…"

That's right. The booze matter, and all those other nasty things people sometimes brought to parties. "You worried about having booze around and stuff?"

"Yes. Never again. But Misa said that it has to be a party that people will want to go to. We don't want people to think that we're 'squares.' People like to drink. But I don't want to be responsible for any…accidents." Understandable.

Erin adjusted her hat, blocking out the sunlight from her eyes. "Well, you could say B.Y.O.B."

Kimiko looked up, her mouth slightly agape with confusion. "Huh?"

"B.Y.O.B. Bring Your Own Booze. Have 'em bring their own alcohol. I don't drink so you don't gotta worry about me. But that way, the guests who wanna drink can drink at their leisure and can't complain about the booze provided. Plus whatever drunken mischief they get into won't be your problem."

Kimiko sighed. "Oh. I see. That might work. Still, do you think we should impose a limit on _how much _they can bring? Enough to enjoy without getting…sloppy. Like, one can of beer per guest, or—"

"Kimi, Erin! Hurry up! We're here!" shouted Misa with her hands cupped around her mouth, who had been running ahead of them like a little girl through an amusement park.

"Coming, Misa! Slow down, will ya?" Erin panted as she and Kimiko tried to pick up the pace, paddling against the flow of the current of people thundering down the sidewalk. Ah, Hollywood, where the streets were filled with gold. In various forms.

Soon the three found themselves in front of the majestic Grauman's Chinese Theatre, where stars had left their literal marks in the Hollywood concrete for the world to marvel at since the roaring '20s. Two stone lions stood on guard, one in front of each red phoenix-adorned pillar, roaring at the less worthy as if to ward them away from the sacred shrine to all things cinema. On the pagoda over the ornate doors, a golden whiskered dragon stood tall among the clouds and elements. Along the rooftop hung a gong with a bald Chinese monk on it, holding what looked like a head in his right hand, posing like Hamlet with poor Yorick's skull.

"Look Kimi, look at all these prints!" squealed Misa, jumping up and down with excitement as she pointed at the ground. "Misa's gonna get her hands on this, someday! I _belong_ here! Erin, quick! Get some pictures!" she commanded, as though the entire theater could grow legs and walk away any minute.

"Yeah, okay, hold on," said Erin, shuffling through her denim purse to retrieve her Canon™ from the folds of junk. "Take the time to get your blinking in."

Misa planted her small feet inside the shoeprints of Rita Hayworth™ and wasted no time striking an array of poses, her grin so big and Cheshire that it almost tore her face in two. As a model, showing off came naturally to her.

As soon as Erin fished out the camera, her eyes wandered briefly until they came to rest on a street vendor. "Awright, I—"

…

_No way. _

She could've sworn her heart did a hiccup. Her shoulder slackened, dropping her purse to the ground with a _thud. _If it weren't for the cord attaching her camera to her wrist, she would've surely dropped that, too. Couldn't afford to break that.

_What the hell's _he _doing here? _

Misa stopped her posing to call, "Erin, you dropped your purse!"

…

"Hey, Erin! Erin? Hell-_ooooo?" _

Kimiko stood next to her, concerned by her lack of a reaction. "Erin? What's wrong?"

She blinked once, then twice to see if the heat was playing tricks on her, like how it made mirages of water out on the road. He was still there. There he was next to the vendor on the corner underneath the frilly multicolored umbrella, his lips wrapped around the mouth of a condensing water bottle, colored light orange with a pocket-sized flavor enhancer. He was dressed fairly sharp for the weather, in tan khakis and a white collared shirt with no jacket, the short sleeves stretching to his smooth biceps with the cuffs folded neatly over.

Dark, shiny smooth hair. Striking blue eyes. Lean ski-slope nose.

_I don't believe it. _

_Steve…! _

"You're not looking at me. What're you looking at?" Misa demanded, turning to look in the same direction as Erin. When her own eyes landed on the man by the street vendor, she gasped. Her eyes then took on a twinkle of understanding. "_Ooooh! _Are you checking that guy out over there?"

"Wh-wha? No, no, I wasn't checking out anyone! I was just—"

Misa left her spot and bounded over to Erin and Kimiko, managing to wrap an arm around Erin's neck and bending her down to more her level. She pointed a finger at Steve. "Is it that guy? There under the umbrella? Hmm, gotta admit, he's pretty cute. Tall, dark, well-defined jawline…ah! Erin, do you know him?"

Erin almost crashed on top of the smaller girl. "_What? _Hey now, I wasn't—wh-what makes you think I—"

"You were staring at him pretty intensely for just checking out a handsome stranger," said Misa, her smile becoming cheeky as she reached down to pick up Erin's purse. She said this like there was a palpable difference between seeing an (attractive) acquaintance and checking out a stranger. "Either you've got a case of love at first sight, or you've seen him from somewhere before. I've fallen in love at first sight before, so I would know."

Of course, she had. When it came to love, Misa could be a sleuth in her own right. Too bad she couldn't seem to get her own love life ironed out.

What was the point in denying it? Erin took a deep breath, suddenly realizing that she hadn't breathed in the last few seconds. "Okay. His name's Steve. I met him in a bookstore while I was still in New York, but nothing happened. We just talked over coffee."

Misa rattled her head in disbelief. "No, you're lying. Something _did _happen. Even if you two just had coffee, something did happen. Sparks flew! It doesn't take much, Erin, you just gotta meet the right guy. Why else would you be eyeing him like that, getting all sweaty and dizzy?"

"Um, because it's hot out?" said Erin lamely. This prompted Kimiko to start blindly digging through her own handbag for a drink.

"No, don't you get it? Either it's the pure red string of fate, or he tracked you all the way down here to Hollywood because he couldn't stand to be away from you. Gosh, I can't believe you didn't tell me about him."

…Erin didn't know whether to find the latter theory romantic or creepy. Steve, a stalker? Yeesh. The red string idea sounded better. "W-well, I didn't think there was anything about it worth sharing. I dunno, Misa. If he was interested from the get-go, I think he would've asked me out when he had the chance. He must have some other reason to be here…"

"So what? This is a sign. You have a chance now! Run to him! Make him your man, we can both see that you want him! Kimi's legally blind and even she can see it."

Kimiko handed Erin a water bottle. "Here. This should help you beat the heat. And if it feels right, Erin, I don't see why you shouldn't pursue him."

Deep down, Misa could understand why Erin was getting cold feet. Her last brush with romance had been a disaster, despite her contributions (or was it in part _because_ of them?). Erin didn't want to get burned again. If they were alike in only one way, it would be that when it came to true love, it was all or nothing for them. They couldn't half-ass it if they tried. But unlike Misa, Erin was afraid of getting hurt in giving her all, hence why she wouldn't give any.

"Come on Erin," she whispered in her ear, her breath fresh and minty. "Sure, I may not have yet found what I had with Light, but I know that if Light really loved me, he would've wanted me to move on and be happy. I'm sure Ryuzaki would've wanted that for you, too."

That's true. She could still remember his advice from the last time they ever saw each other. _Make the most out of life. _How could she forget? Some days, that was the best thing she had to get herself through.

Her cold feet about Steve couldn't possibly have to do with L, could it? Their "relationship" had been nothing like Light and Misa's. They didn't date, not really (when they did it had been under duress by Misa). But, what were they, exactly? Strangers? Enemies? Friends? More than friends? L never really made that clear. Then again, neither had she…

Anyway, that was years ago. No, this was simply a matter of league. As in, why on Earth would someone like Steve be keen on someone like her? The man was smart, easy-going, charming, looked like someone from out of a perfume ad in the Cosmo™ pages, the kind with the free samples under the flaps, only real. He deserved a girl of the same caliber. Hell, what if he'd already snagged a girlfriend since they last saw each other? He'd have no trouble doing that…

Only then did she notice Misa pushing her down the sidewalk in his direction, like she was herding a sheep into a trailer. "H-hey! What're ya doing?"

"You can't move on if you don't try," grunted Misa, who was quite strong for her size. "He's right there, so go get 'im! Set free those butterflies fluttering in your stomach!"

Erin waved the water bottle over her head like a signal flag, her stomach indeed fluttering more than she could bear. "Wait! D-didn't you say you wanted a picture in front of the theater?"

"Don't worry about that; Kimi will take it," said Misa, snatching the camera from off her wrist.

"Er, Misa? Don't you have to be able to see to take pictures?" asked a meek Kimiko.

"There's nothing to it, Kimi. You just point the camera at the thing you're shooting at and press the big shiny button on the top," called Misa from over her shoulder. "Now go get 'im, tigress!"

With one final shove, Erin found herself on all fours on the ground, stings of pain shooting up from her scraped knees and the palms of her hands. Misa flashed her two thumbs-up before scurrying back to the front of the theater to show Kimiko how to use the camera.

Her fingers scraped against the concrete as her hands clenched into fists, almost to the point of bleeding. _Why, you—_

"Hey, are you okay?" asked a smooth, familiar voice that made her feel warm in spite of herself. Sure enough, she looked up to see Steve towering over her, a hand outstretched to her.

_Oh God. _She had his attention. She couldn't possibly go back to pretending he wasn't there, now. The "tigress" was using the wounded gazelle gambit to lure in her prey by appealing to the chivalrous knight in him. Or rather, that was what _Misa _had had in mind. She had set her up, just like that.

Somehow he managed to snatch up her water bottle and was balancing the two bottles in one hand, pressing them to his side. He was smiling at her now, stands of his hair draping around and over his eyes. Oh, what a smile! So sure and gentle and natural, playful with not a trace of malice. At this rate, his smile would kill her before the heat did.

His chuckle only made it worse, or better, Erin couldn't quite tell. "Are you going to take my hand or keep staring at it? I know I've got nice hands, but they can't be that nice."

"Oh. Right, sorry." She hoped he couldn't feel her pulse pounding in her hand as she took his. Tipping her hat around, she brushed whatever hair she could behind her ear as they hoisted her back onto her feet together.

"I could've sworn I saw someone push you," he said, offering her back her water bottle. Erin tried to keep the eye contact at a minimum as she dusted herself off.

She took back the sweating bottle. "Aw, don't worry about it, that was just my friend being stupid—"

She thought she heard him gasp to himself. "Erin?" Oh, boy. Somehow her name sounded nicer when he said it. "Ha, long time, no see!"

_What are you doing? Say something! You've talked to him before; why are you suddenly getting all bashful? _

_Because the weather's just made me see what a knock-out he really is. _

If it didn't make her look crazy in front of Steve—like she really needed that—she would've slapped herself silly. _FOCUS! _

"Steve! Well, I'll be a monkey's aunt!" she chuckled. "So the heat's not playing tricks on me, after all. Didn't expect to find you here in Hollywood." _Though you've got the face and personality for it…_

"I could say the same about you," said Steve, taking her hand to shake it. His fingertips were very lightly callused, the kind of callused that marked a man of hard work and ambition, but the rest of his hand was soft and warm. He'd just touched her hand twice in the span of one minute. Why was she getting so worked up over a handshake, anyway?

"Ah, well, I moved to LA so I could spread my wings, y'know? I've got a friend here from Japan who's visiting America for the first time with her sister, so I'm showing them the ropes. That's them, uh, messing around in front of Grauman's over there," she said, pointing behind her toward the theater, where Misa was striking all kinds of poses in front of her flustered sister.

Steve laughed. What a light, pleasant laugh. "That's your friend making all those poses, the blond? She looks like she's already at home, here."

"I would think. Misa's a pretty big hit in her country, and now she's landed a movie deal here in Hollywood. I think it's a rom-com, she really likes those. Or is it a rom-_dram?_ A rom-dramedy? Well, it's romantic. It's what she's into. Anyway, she's making her debut in the States. We're just hoping she doesn't get too big for her britches." Somehow the conversation flowed easier for her, likely because the topic was on Misa. "Ah. You didn't hear that from me, though."

"Oh, a celebrity!" he exclaimed, his eyes shining with an odd light of recognition. "Well, it's good to see that she has people looking out for her." Erin briefly glanced at her shoes, trying not to blush. He had no idea.

"And when it premieres, Misa's gonna get us VIP tickets for front-row seats."

"And what about you? Apart from that, what have you been up to?"

Nuts. No point in stretching the truth to make herself sound more badass than she really was. But, there was no reason not to maintain a certain vagueness, either. Men liked mysterious, didn't they? It made them want to stick around to find out more. "Who, me? _Ppht. _Writing articles, giving back to the community…pretty much the same stuff, but a different city. It's not like I've changed that much since I left New York."

Oh no, the same stuff? Did that imply that she was boring? Steve wouldn't want someone boring. "I mean, I do whatever I please," she added in haste. "I'm a freelancer. It's what I do. You? How 'bout you?"

…

Free-lancer. Did that imply she was fickle? Steve wouldn't want someone fickle. He'd want someone who had her act together.

Steve shrugged. Such nice broad shoulders, the kind Erin wouldn't mind resting her head on—_Erin, please FOCUS! _"I'm here visiting family, myself. I just wish it wasn't so hot."

"It's Cali, what can you do? On the bright side, it might get cooler in the future when the ice caps melt and the whole state goes underwater," said Erin, trying not to stare at the way Steve's lips wrapped around the mouth of the bottle, or the way his Adam's apple bobbed up and down his neck as he swallowed. One of the things about crushes was that no matter what the object of your affections did, somehow it looked attractive. He could be picking his nose and it would still look attractive. Well, maybe not _attractive,_ but it would be less _un_attractive, just because_ he_ would be doing it.

She blinked. "Uhm, come to think of it, that wouldn't be a very good thing, would it?" She hoped that he'd attribute the flush of her face to the summer sun.

"No, it wouldn't. Not for me, at least. My dad would be pissed if his house got flooded over. Then he and my mom would have to move in with me. Ugh, what a nightmare! Hey, I've got some flavor drops. You want some? It's tangerine."

Erin held out her open bottle at arm's length. "D-don't mind if I do." On the inside, she kicked herself for stammering. _Chill out, it's not like he's asking you to marry him. _

Squeezing the orange drops into her water felt like they were making a kind of blood oath, like how Smith looked at Nurse Gillian as a water brother after just sharing a lousy glass of water with her. _Jesus, I'm just as crazy as Misa. Even his pit-stains look manly to me. _

"So how do you like it here in Hollywood?"

"Erm, well, it's a—it's a pretty interesting place, even more so when I'm seeing it up close. Maybe it's not as bad as everyone says it is? It's just a place to make movies, isn't it?" She savored the splash of flavored water on her tongue. Tangerine never tasted so sweet, and that was only partly because she was mad-thirsty.

"Maybe. Or maybe that's what they _want _you to think? Lull you into a false sense of security while they take over the country."

Erin almost choked on her water. "Wh-what? Get out!" she snorted, wiping away some of the flavored water that had escaped from her lips and dribbled down her chin.

"Think about it. We've had at least one president who was a movie star, or who was close to a movie star, and we know how that turned out."

"You're such a jerk, Steve!" she laughed. "Man, I've missed you."

Her words echoed back to her in her mind, and she felt herself turn pale. _Did I just say that? But, you don't have to like-like someone to miss them. He'd probably think I've just missed talking to him and stuff, is all…_

Steve's own face became flushed with heat as he smiled again. "Yeah, I've missed you, too. It's funny, even though we've only seen each other a few times, I've missed our talks…"

For some inexplicable reason, Erin sank a little inside with disappointment. He just missed talking to her, or so he'd said. Wait. Isn't that what she'd expected? _Stop smiling, it's messing me up, never stop smiling, FOCUS! _

Just then, a whistle shot through the air from behind. Someone was beckoning to them, or at least one of them. Steve glanced over his shoulder and Erin glanced around him. A black car with tinted windows had pulled up along the curb. Behind the open door stood a tall, busty fair-skinned woman with choppy sand-blond hair draping past her shoulders, her stern eyes a sharp amber. She pulled her fingers out of her red lips, her mouth curled in a slight frown. Her bangs seemed pasted to her face with sweat. Like Steve, her attire was also sharp for the weather, her white blouse left unbuttoned at the top to let some air in.

Steve tapped the heel of his hand against his forehead. "Ugh. Sorry to cut our reunion short, Erin, but I've gotta go. Halle's waiting on me."

"Halle?"

"Yeah, Halle. My…partner."

The whole state of California could have a massive earthquake right then, and for a moment Erin wouldn't have minded the earth cracking open just under her feet and swallowing her whole. _Oh MAN, he has a girlfriend now? Hold on, he said 'partner,' not 'girlfriend.' But some people call their girlfriends their partner, don't they? Oh look at her, she looks like one of those European models, Swedish or Scandinavian or something. I can't compete with that! Why is she driving a black car with tinted windows? Is she really a model, or—_

Without thinking (about what she was doing, at least), Erin shot out and hooked her hand around Steve's elbow, just as he was turning to leave. His bare elbow gleaming with sun and sweat. "Ah wait, hold up!"

Steve looked back at her, somewhat incredulous. "What is it, Erin?"

"B-before you go, I just want to tell you that—that Misa's throwing a house party and everyone who's anyone's gonna be there and I was wondering if you'd wanna come—"

Steve's face seemed to brighten up, not the type to miss out on a good soiree. "Well sure, I'd love to come! Where's the place? When is it?"

"Uh…I dunno, she hasn't really set a date, yet. I'm thinking next weekend, but—I'll hafta get back to you on that. But I can give you her address, it's in Beverly Hills." She patted herself for a notepad and pen, only to realize: "Shoot! I left my purse with Misa. My pen and address book are in there—"

"Hey, no problem. I've got a pen on me, and some cards to write on. Wait a second…"

Erin liked a man who was prepared, in the most innocent sense possible. Steve fished out a pen and his wallet from out of his shirt pocket, his movement fluid and brisk. He handed her both the pen and two manila business cards. "One of them's for you. I'll hold that for you."

What? Oh, right. Her water bottle.

She flipped them over in her shaky, clammy hand. Once again, she couldn't believe her eyes. Across the top in size 16 Andalus font read "Stephen G." Under that was his cell phone number and e-mail.

"O-oh my God, you actually keep business cards? For real?"

Steve shrugged, his smile becoming slyer, almost cocky. "Why not? When you've got as many people asking for your number as I do, it's useful to keep cards."

…

Erin didn't know whether to be nervous about this tidbit of information. "What are you, a gigolo?"

Jesus Christ, she did _not _just say that. He could've just meant professionals asking for his number. Open mouth, insert foot.

Steve didn't miss a beat. "If that were the case, I'd have a more interesting stage name to go by. 'Stephen G.' is kind of a bland name for that job description, don't you think?"

_**HON-HONK! **_

Erin jumped at the cry of a car's horn. "Ah, we'd better wrap this up! Sounds like Halle's getting impatient. Oh, by the way, she can come too, if she wants!"

"Sure, I'll pass the word on for you."

"Great! Sensational!" Erin scribbled down Misa and Kimiko's address on the back of one card before handing it back to Steve. "Just remember to R.S.V.P. by the end of the week, if you're gonna come. Oh wait, I forgot to give you my number—"

"You don't really have to. If you call me on my cell, your number's just going to show up on my caller I.D."

…

"_Yeeaaah_, but just in case, I'll just squeeze it in there, real quick. This is the one that you'll have the best chances of reaching me at. Oh yeah, one more thing, 'fore I forget. The dress is semi-casual and B.Y.O.B. Be sure to tell Halle that, too."

"Roger that."

So the deed was done. Numbers were exchanged, and Steve had disappeared into the car with Halle and was speeding up the street in a cloud of dust and exhaust before Erin could snap out of her daze and begin to comprehend what had just happened, her water bottle melting in her hand.

_Did…did I just ask him out on a date? Why did I do that? It all happened so fast, but…it's out there in the universe, now. I can't really take it back, can I? Or I could, but that wouldn't reflect too good on me. I can't believe he said yes! Yes, to me, of all people! Even after I accused him of being a gigolo. He's so cool. What a guy…_

_It's not technically a date if I invited Halle too, is it? I dunno, maybe they're not partners in _that_ way? What if he meant professional partners? But in what profession? Art, business, I think he said he was in design or something—_

She stopped dead in her tracks, halfway between the vendor and the theater where the Amane sisters waited for her. The wind felt knocked out of her by some intangible force.

_Is he a _cop?

If he was, she couldn't fault him for not telling her. If she was a cop or detective, she wouldn't go around advertising that fact to everyone she met either, not unless it was necessary. No one from the Japanese NPA talked about their occupation unless they had to. Even the guys on TV didn't mention it when they didn't have to. It was like espionage in a way, only for the public. Either way, next to no one liked them very much.

Well, it would explain the sharp dress and black car with tinted windows…

But…if he and Halle were cops, then what were they doing here? Were they investigating a top-secret case?

…

_Does it have at all to do with the thing about criminals dying? _

The plastic crinkled under her fingers. _But if they were, that would mean that someone _does _know what's going on, or at least has an inkling that they're trying to investigate. Someone with a lot of power. Oh God, what if Steve's with the FBI or CIA? _

She gulped. _All right, stop. You're making too many assumptions. Heat and hormones are messing with your head. You know what they say: to assume is to make an 'ass' out of 'U' and 'me.' _She took another swig of the refreshing fluid. _You don't want to get anyone, especially not Steve, involved in something he has no business in. Not something of this magnitude…_

She slumped against a building, staring at the card that looked too professional to be just a potential date's contact info. _On the other hand…if he _is_ in law enforcement, and he _is _investigating this crap, I could really use his help. It's gonna be at least a few days before I hear from Matsuda and the gang, and we could use all the help we can get. _

_But, how am I supposed to approach him? I can't do it directly, he might freak out. _

_Would he? Well, maybe not 'freak out,' but…_

She tipped her hat over her eyes, grabbing for some shade and privacy. _Not only that, but he's gonna want to know why I think the way I do about all this…this ain't something I can lie about. _

Erin tried to drink away the rocks bouncing around in her stomach where butterflies used to be, but to little avail. It'd been so long since she was able to talk about the Kira case with anyone, and "anyone" went only about as far as Matsuda. The others were trying to move on themselves, having little time to dwell on the past as most people did. In fact, since she came back to America, she hadn't told anyone about it. She'd stayed as far away from the Kira subject as much as she could; it was just too personal. And no one would have believed her if she did say something.

_Ugh, that's right. What if he doesn't believe me? What if he thinks I'm a nutjob who pulled this outta her crazy ass? I wouldn't blame him, but I don't want it to come to that. I could have the guys from the task force back me up. But would they be willing to get involved? Why not? _

_That would mean telling him about the notebook…that's a guarded secret, and for good reason. _

_Well, if I'm gonna do that, the first thing I'll wanna do is make sure that Steve actually is a cop or detective, and that he's looking into these deaths. Then hook him up with the task force so they can have their say. Oi, that'll be a cake-walk—_

"Erin! You were gone longer than I thought! How did it go? You look kinda breathless…"

Jumping at the exclamation, Erin looked up to find Misa bounding her way, her purse gripped in her tiny hands while her own was slung on her shoulder. Kimiko tagged along behind her, looking quite unsure of herself about her efforts as a photographer.

She cleared her throat. "Uh, well…I don't know how it happened, but we got to talking a bit, then next thing I know, we're exchanging numbers. I told him about the party and invited him. I told him to B.Y.O.B. Speaking of, are we having it next weekend or something?"

"_Eeeeee!" _Misa's squeal was like a baby dolphin's: joyous, shrill yet overwhelmingly adorable. "I _knew_ it! Didja hear that, Kimi? I just _knew _there was something between you. And it can only get better from here! You just have to keep the momentum going."

"I also invited his friend, Halle. I mean, if she's up to it—"

Misa made a face. "Huh? You did _what? _D'oh, what were you thinking? The point was to try asking him out so you can get some alone-time. You're not supposed to invite competition, too!"

_That's the problem. I wasn't thinking. Not much. _"W-well, it didn't look like they're sweet on each other. I think they just work together. I don't think she's competition."

"So? She was in the car he got into, wasn't she? And she works with him. That all by itself makes her a possible rival. You should never trust other females around your man unless they're relatives."

Suddenly, all this tension began building up between Erin's temples in a throbbing headache. "Um, Misa? If that were true, then I'd have to un-invite him from your party on the grounds that you'll be there hosting it."

"Are you saying I'd steal him from you? You know I wouldn't do that. Misa's a good girl!"

"I know you wouldn't, but that's the problem with your logic. Besides, you did admit to me that you thought he was cute," she teased. "And you're single again, so you must be looking for someone new, aren'cha?"

"Oh, stop it!" cried Misa, playfully beating her fists into Erin's shoulders. "That doesn't mean I'm gonna steal him from you! He's cute, but not the kind of cute I'm after."

Erin knew she was telling the truth. All the men Misa had dated since Light's passing were Japanese (of course), tall, lithe, fair in skin and hair with brown eyes, most of them younger than her by a few years. Hideki had about two years on Misa, but he was also fair-haired and could pass as someone younger. It was almost as though Misa was unconsciously trying without avail to find a look-alike to take Light's place in the hole he'd left in her heart…

But Light wasn't the kind of guy who could be replaced so easily.

"Well anyway, if you're done with it, can I have my camera back? Did you get any good pictures?"

"I-I would like to think so," said Kimiko sheepishly.

"Oh yeah! Kimi's a whiz at headshots, foot-shots, side-shots and upside-down shots. She's a ground-breaker! Wanna see?"

…

"Gevanni, I respect your need to maintain a social life, but it would be appreciated if you flirted on your own time."

Gevanni smoothed back his hair, sticky and moist with humidity and sweat. "Oh please. I held us up for what, a minute or two? It was a friend of mine; how could I not acknowledge her? You're not jealous, are you?"

Lidner rolled her eyes as she reached from the steering wheel to adjust the AC. "Jealous of what?"

"That I actually have the time to flirt and you don't."

Lidner would not dignify that with an answer. This was why their superiors were hardest on Gevanni, no matter how talented he was.

"Oh right. Erin's friend is having a house party next weekend, and she invited us both. She gave me the address and her number. Her friend lives in Beverly Hills with her sister. She's an actress from Japan who's making her debut here in the States. Misa. Oh yeah, B.Y.O.B."

How fortunate that a truck was ahead of them at the light, or else Lidner might have ran through it in her surprise with nothing bigger to prompt her to use the brake. "Misa? As in, Misa Amane?"

Gevanni gasped, "I don't know who else she could have been referring to. She pointed out a girl in front of the theater who looks like her." He pulled on the seatbelt so it wouldn't cut into his neck. "She seemed pretty happy-go-lucky for an ex-serial killer."

_Hopefully, she's stayed an ex-serial killer. _

Misa Amane, the Second Kira. Or at least, she was. They knew this much because L had disclosed this information to them. As the only surviving suspect from the original Kira case, did she have anything to do with the new criminal deaths? Many of the victims were the kind of criminals that the Second Kira preyed on, the kind who preyed on the weak and defenseless in some way. That depended on whether Misa had another notebook on her and was using it. That was what they were looking into, among other things.

"How do they know each other, Amane and your friend?"

Gevanni finished off the last of his water before placing the empty bottle into a cup-holder. "Not sure, although she did tell me once that she studied abroad in Japan when she was in college, around the time Kira was on the rise. They could've met each other that way. She went to To-Oh University."

Lidner glanced up at the rearview mirror, squinting at the jerk crawling up from behind. "Light Yagami was also a student at To-Oh University, but he had to drop out for unspecified reasons…"

Unspecified at the time, that is.

"He was also supposedly Amane's boyfriend. It's possible that they met through him."

"Maybe. Or it was just all coincidence."

Yes. It could've all been coincidence. But the pieces fit fairly well to be just that.

"Lidner, I was thinking—"

"A dangerous pastime."

"Seriously. Maybe we can use this party as an opportunity to infiltrate Amane's house to look for evidence? It should be easy, with all the commotion."

"Or it would make it harder. In any case, we should run it by L and Rester first before we do anything."

Gevanni folded his arms across his chest. "Whatever happened to independent thinking?"

"It's encouraged, as long as the ideas aren't stupid. For all I know, you're only suggesting this because you want an excuse to fool around with that friend of yours," said Lidner as she turned the corner, bringing them onto the street that would take them onto the freeway back to the Holy Chateau Hotel™ on W. 19th St., their temporary task force headquarters.

Gevanni pretended to be bothered, or at least more than he really was. "I beg your pardon? _Halle_, I cannot believe that you would accuse me of something so sleazy. How long have we been working together?"

"Long enough for me to know how you are with the ladies, _Stephen_. You keep business cards with your number on them, and they're not just used for business."

"Hmph. Well, at least you can't accuse me of being a home-wrecker." His partner was right in a way. He found himself rather eager to meet Erin again, but he wouldn't admit this out loud. It wasn't likely that Erin knew the details about the Kira case or on Misa's past. He certainly wouldn't want her involved in something she had no business in. And yet…

"That's true. But still…I need a shower," she mumbled under her breath, taking a handkerchief to wipe her brow dry.

"Didn't you shower this morning? Jeez, you've been in the shower a lot lately since we started work on this case. At this rate, you're going to run the coastline dry."

Lidner pursed her lips as her grip on the wheel tightened. "It's hot. I feel like a snowman." As a Northerner, she never was a big fan of summer, preferring the chill of fall and winter.

"Sure, it is. Either that or you might want to think about upping your meds. Or maybe you're just reaching that certain age—"

"Gevanni? Would you like me to drop you off here so you can clear the rest of the way on foot?"

…

"I thought so."

Gevanni allowed a few moments of silence for the tension to ebb, at least enough for his apology to take effect. "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything malicious by it, you should know that. But I guess that was kind of in bad taste."

Lidner didn't answer, but her expression softened.

"Onto a more serious topic…I'm a little concerned about this plan of L's. Do you think it'll work? What do you think he's trying to accomplish, exactly?"

"All he would say about it is that it's supposed to lure out our unsub."

"On what grounds? If there is another person or group out there using the notebook, what if they see through it? This sounds pretty similar to the stunt L pulled on the first case. If our unsub sees through it, all he'll have accomplished is causing a public panic."

"I'm pretty sure he thought that far, Gevanni. Personally, I think he's taking this approach because he might know someone who would use a Death Note this way and thinks this is the best way to provoke him…"

Gevanni fiddled with the AC on his side, adjusting the vent so the refreshing gust streamed upward to his slick face. "If he already has a suspect in mind, why hasn't he said anything about it?"

"You know L. He likes to make absolute certain of things before sharing them."

…

Misa was working late for a night scene, and Kimiko had gone upstairs to bed. With Erin and Lawliet as the only two souls up and about in the house, Erin tried to ward off the eerie silence with music and TV, with the volume turned down as a courtesy to Kimiko. Erin ambled about the kitchen, a pint of fat-free Neapolitan ice cream clutched in her hand. She could use a good sitcom or stand-up routine to unwind. Lawliet's mood had improved, but she knew better than to approach him just yet. If he wanted to curl up, the door and her lap were open. If not…that was fine, too, although she was really starting to miss his furry warmth in her lap on these late lonely nights when she needed it.

She had already called Frank to ask how things were going at their apartment. From his report, everything was fine. No more shmucks had tried to break into her place or anyone else's, and the new back door had been installed. The plants were getting watered and the mail set aside.

_I'd better go back tomorrow to check on things, or else Frank's gonna think I'm using him for cheap housekeeping while I'm living it up on the fast lane with my rich and famous friends in Hollywood…_

Sinking into the plush vinyl of the sofa, she shoveled a spoonful of thawing vanilla-chocolate-strawberry comfort into her mouth, trying to focus on the roast of some hard-partying rock star as opposed to the other things buzzing through her mind like mad hornets; after all, it was actually pretty funny in spite of all the venom, and it wasn't like the guy they were roasting hadn't agreed to it, it was probably all scripted, everyone should be able to laugh at themselves sometimes—

The screen flashed. But it wasn't storming outside. The night couldn't have been clearer.

Gone were the blasts of insults met by howls of audience members busting their guts. Instead, Erin found herself face to face with a stark white screen displaying only one object. A letter. A familiar letter in the largest Cloister Black font that could fit in closed-captioning.

_**L. **_

She almost swallowed her spoon.

_Wh-what the hell! Is that what I think i—_

The black "L" on the screen seemed to burn against the white background, straight through the TV and branding itself onto her brain like a hot iron against hide. It'd seemed to brand itself onto the inside of her eyelids as she rubbed the crud out of them. This couldn't be real. It just _couldn't. _Had she fallen asleep on the couch and was having another dream?

Then the "L" began to speak. Even the scrambled voice sounded just like him—no. No, it couldn't possibly be—

"_Greetings to everyone who may be watching at this moment. This is L." _

She made a frantic grab for the remote to try changing the channel. No dice. She mashed the buttons until they almost broke straight through the device, but every channel was the same. The same letter L looming over her, sharp as a needle injecting anesthetic into every pore of her body.

This _had _to be a dream.

"_It has come to my attention that there are rumors of Kira making a return, in light of recent news of criminals dying under mysterious circumstances, particularly in the US." _

How could he know this? Just who the fuck _was _this guy? How did he know what she had been contemplating for the past few days? He sounded like L, but—but he _couldn't _be L! The L she knew had been dead for almost four years. Either his spirit had inexplicably come back to haunt the tube—or at least her—or—

Whoever this was, his next words struck her like a cold slap in the face.

"_I am here to announce to everyone who might be wondering, that I am not, nor do I plan to be, involved in this in any way. I will say this much: if there is in fact a person or group responsible for the deaths, they are not the Kira the world is familiar with. I have deduced all of Kira's killing methods, and if indeed these are in fact acts of murder, this criminal is likely using these same methods. _

"_If it were Kira, I would be on this case, but since it's not, I will not take part in these happenings. I have no interest in this criminal. This is something I think the police can take care of themselves." _

…

_L…why? _

The pint and spoon dropped to the floor. She had become so numb, it felt like she'd lost control of her muscles.

"_Of course, just saying that I won't get involved in a case isn't reason enough to hijack the airwaves. So, I will conclude my announcement with this…_

"_If there is someone out there killing criminals, whoever you are, __**you are a cheap, abominable murderer.**__" _

Then "L" was gone, just like that. Like a phantom she thought she saw peeking at her from around the corner, only to find it gone when she blinked like it'd never been there to begin with. Only then could she stop to catch her breath, like his words had turned into a hand wrapping around her neck, choking her. The roast was back on like nothing had happened, but she could no longer hear a single line of snark uttered.

What. Just happened?

…

Never had Erin felt such an urge to take the TV and toss it out the window, and if it weren't for the fact that it was Misa and Kimiko's, she might have. L had left the world almost four years ago, but neither he nor Light ever quite left their lives, had they? Was this how Jeremy felt when old Mrs. Dubose died and she'd left him her camellia after everything she'd put him through?

"_Old hell-devil! Old hell-devil! Why can't she leave me alone?"_

She couldn't find it in her to think this over rationally, at the moment. At that moment, she found herself confronted with old feelings, good and bad but mostly bad that seemed to pour out of her from somewhere like blood when a blade trailed over an old white scar, hot and stinging. They left a strange, bitter metallic taste in her mouth, despite having just indulged in a few spoons of ice cream.

This wasn't right. She was supposed to have forgiven the past. Why was it all suddenly coming back to her with the force of a plane touching down over her head? That wasn't _really _L on TV. Couldn't be! L was dead. Granted, she didn't actually get to see him off; he'd chased her away before then. Had he found some way around it so that he could cheat his own death and go on being L? No, that wasn't likely. The Death Note's power was absolute. Surely he would have known this before going through with what he did.

But…that voice, that insignia, that completely assholeish stunt on public broadcast. This had L written all over it, literally. Either L's spirit had come back to haunt the world, or…

…_someone posing as L made that announcement. But _who_, and why would they do this? _

Not many knew L the person as well as the title. Watari and Light had passed away along with him, so this couldn't be their doing. There was no way Misa could or would have pulled off something of this magnitude. That left the guys from the task force: Matsuda, Aizawa, Mogi and Mr. Yagami. They were the only ones in all the police or government agencies who even had the notion that L was dead.

Would they do this? But why? Did they even know about what'd been going on here in the States? No. They would never—

…

A dark, foreign thought jolted her then, shocking her from head to curling toe.

_Is there someone else? Someone L never told us about? This guy—or girl, could be a girl for all I know—sounds too much like him to just be a stranger. They must know him pretty well if they can impersonate him. _

…

When she realized that her ice cream was going to melt into the carpet, she bent over and picked up the pint and spoon, but she stayed with her head between her knees for longer than she should. She was too dizzy to get up, just yet. _Great. Not only is there someone out there using the notebook, but there's some shmuck out there pretending to be L. It's like it's happening all over again. Kira vs. L…you guys just couldn't let it go—_

Although she'd only had a few spoons of ice cream, she suddenly felt nauseous. She put the lid back on the pint and staggered to her feet towards the kitchen to put it away for later. _Dear God, what if these two are one and the same? _

_I—I should go to bed. Maybe I just dreamed up what happened on TV, or something? My brains are fried. If I wake up tomorrow and find it as the first thing on the headlines…then it's not a dream and I gotta get a hold of Matsuda as soon as fucking possible. _

A soft "mrow" chimed beside her. She closed the freezer to find her half-bald cat staring up at her. He didn't look as mad as he had before.

"Hey, boy. What is it? How're you feeling?" she asked, her words and smile watery. Was loneliness finally getting to the cat? Even cats, as naturally inclined to solitude as they were, got lonely more often than they liked to admit.

He flicked the end of his tail.

"You wanna come sit on the couch, for a while?"

"_Mow." _

She rubbed at her eyes. Somehow her cheeks had gotten wet. "Okay, let's do that. But first things first…"

Erin and Lawliet crept through the house, checking the windows and doors and fetching Louie along the way. Misa had her keys, so getting into the house shouldn't be a problem for her. But just in case, Erin left the porch light and TV on, with the volume down. Once Erin was satisfied with her rounds, she sat back down on the couch with Louie beside her and Lawliet curled in her lap—not as furry as usual but just as warm as any other time—and did nothing else until, against the odds, sleep weighed on her eyelids, fitful as it was.

When Misa came home after midnight and bade good-night to her escort, she found Erin lying on the couch with her bat tucked under her arm and Lawliet coiled by her head. The TV was still on. What was she doing on the couch with her bat, she wondered as she peered at her from over the sofa. She could see drying tear streaks on her face.

Had she been crying here in the dark? Over what? That burglar, or something more? Had she had a nightmare?

Misa stretched the ache out of her limbs. She knew all too well what it was like to cry herself to sleep. But she wasn't going to wake her up to ask about it, now. Let her sleep, it was late. Setting her purse down, she turned off the TV and went upstairs to get a blanket.

As she spread the blanket over Erin, Lawliet stirred and hissed at her.

"Oh, what are _you _hissing at, huh?" Misa whispered, sticking her tongue out at the cat as she pulled down one bottom eyelid. "Go back to sleep, silly kitty."

…

Matt thought he heard something smash against the dirty concrete or brick before he could knock. Glass? Oh boy. He was breaking things again. That could only mean…

He rapped on the door, already braced for whatever he might throw at him.

"What? What is it?" he snapped, a distinct snarl in his voice like a lion that had just had its paw mangled in a steel trap.

Matt stepped inside to find beer on a dark, dribbling stain on the wall to his left, scattered under it the dark green shards of a beer bottle. The room stank of booze, sweat, anger and chocolate.

"I was going to tell you about what just happened on TV, but judging by your cheery disposition, I guess you already saw."

Mello slouched in a rich dark brown (chocolate colored) armchair, a prototype for the throne he'd envisioned himself seated in in the ideally not-so-far future, his gloved fingers digging into the leather upholstery like a feline preparing to unleash its wrath on the piece of furniture. He looked like a rock star or dark prince in his black form-fitting leather top and pants. At his feet Matt saw the remains of another beer bottle. Mello didn't drink, not like the others in their group, but he did like to break things, the same way some beat on punching bags or pillows to release their anger and frustration. Better beer bottles than something expensive, or sentient.

Across from Mello, the TV hummed, neither of them too interested in what was on, at the moment.

"Did he really just do that? I wonder why he would get up on TV and say that?"

"He's _mocking _me."

"Mocking you? What for? He can't possibly know what you've been up to, you've been careful about that. He doesn't even know where we are…does he?"

"Maybe somebody's squealed on you?"

_Great._ Matt hid his annoyance as the two saw Lumen pass through the wall. "Maybe there's a snitch in our ranks, and he's leaking info?" he suggested with a sneer.

Couldn't be, thought Mello. The cops wouldn't be stupid to sneak another mole into their group, not after last time. The last sonofabitch had managed to get his hands on the Death Note, not knowing what it was. Naturally, he saw Lumen leering at him, freaked out, and ended up blowing his cover. His punishment had been slow and painful, and all bugs he'd had on him promptly destroyed. That was all just a few months ago.

A sudden twinge of paranoia struck the young Mafioso. Had _he _been sitting in on that case? Had he heard everything through the mole's bugs? No, he couldn't have. After the mole was disposed of, all they'd had to do was move to a new hideout and cover their tracks. They'd had no SWAT teams storming their place or anything of that sort.

Unless that wasn't what he was after…

Well, shit. Even if he did hear something, he couldn't have possibly figured out that he was there, or that he had a Death Note. Was he just going by a hunch? What balls, to go and make an announcement like that on TV on a measly hunch.

Near was always confident like that. Just like their predecessor…

Mello needed a bar, now. He stormed around his chair to pluck one out from the tin box sitting on the floor. Near was trying to provoke him, make him do something to screw up. "Cheap," he'd called him. Mello was a sell-out. He'd taken up a path not unlike Kira, the crazy serial killer who'd defeated the first L.

He smirked in spite of himself. _Who's the real sell-out, Near? At least I'm doing it my way. _

He tore the gold foil off the top of the chocolate and bit off a large chunk with his teeth bared like a ravenous beast feasting on his kill. Well, Near could forget it. Mello wasn't Kira; he wouldn't expose himself just because someone said something he didn't like. That was how Yagami had screwed up.

"Now what?" asked Matt.

"For now, we'll just keep doing what we're doing. If we don't respond to his message, he can't track us. He did say, after all, that he wasn't going to take action to hunt us down," he scoffed. "In the meantime, we should…weed out any new moles, just in case. Gather everyone around."

"Allow me," said Lumen, already halfway through the wall. "I'm practically the right-hand man, here."

_I wonder, sometimes. _

When Lumen disappeared, Matt asked, "Hey, Mello?"

"What?"

"About that girl…you're not thinking about killing her, are you?"

…

"No. I can't. Our informant said nothing's supposed to happen to her. Not now, at least."

Matt bit back a scowl. _Informant. That's what they're calling it now? _

"Besides, what can she do? No one will believe her if she goes to the police."

"She has friends in the Japanese NPA, Mello. They'd probably vouch for her if she asked them to."

"Maybe, but what can they do? They can't prove that these are murders done with a killer notebook. The stunt Near pulled on TV is a bluff. Unless the existence of the notebook becomes public, no one will believe him; he didn't even mention the notebook in that broadcast. He just said that he's already 'deduced Kira's killing methods.' For now, just continue keeping an eye on her."

"Yes, your Majesty," said Matt, his reply lukewarm.

Mello snorted. _Damn straight. _

Then Mello was alone in the room. He yanked out the black notebook he had stashed under the cushion of his armchair and flipped through the pages: a privilege exclusive to him, in return for everything he'd done for the organization. Some of the names within the pages were in his handwriting, others by other members of the group when they saw it fit. One entry gave him pause.

_Miguel Mora. _

That's right. The Mora brothers had become inconveniences to the mafia. Felipe's name was scribbled in here some pages back. _Gets into a fight with an inmate, has a few more inmates gang up on him and takes a blow that breaks a rib and ruptures his spleen. He dies of internal bleeding. _

Miguel had had no conditions attached to his name. The gang had decided to just off him with a heart attack. The guy had pushed products for them; no one would think it strange that he should die from the side-effects of getting high off his supply. He'd been struggling to pay off his debts to them, drawing money so he could keep his batty mother in the home. He had tried to rob a few places in hopes of closing the gap, and after his arrest a hit on him had been requested.

Mello closed his eyes and envisioned Brother Ivan, bedridden, drooling and lucid for only a few minutes a day, enthralled in the final stages of what he had learned later to be Huntington's. He wasn't actually there to see this, but his imagination was vivid and he'd done his share of research on it…after the fact. Mello hadn't even known he was sick until he had gone back to see him, only to find him already gone from the world. The rosary in his pocket was the only thing he'd had left of him, of that old life. The one before Wammy's House.

They couldn't even grant him a mercy kill. Some bullshit about it being "against God's will." What kind of god would want to make people like Ivan suffer so much? The man gave up his life to serve this god, took Mello in when no one else had wanted anything to do with him, and this god paid him back with a slow and pathetic death. Even a shinigami like Lumen sounded benevolent in comparison.

Or maybe there was no god and Ivan had just gotten unlucky? Then the man had wasted his life on a false cause. Somehow that sounded even worse.

Why make the old lady suffer any more than she had already? She was all alone, her two sons gone, and she could only get worse. There was no quality to be had in her life now, not when she couldn't remember the faces of her loved ones, whether they were even alive. Besides, she was putting an unnecessary financial drain on the group in keeping her institutionalized. They weren't a charity.

He decided to do her a special favor. Put her out of her misery, courtesy of the mafia. Make it look natural, of course.

Mello fished out a pen from under the cushion and wrote the following underneath Miguel's entry:

_Estrella Mora, Stroke. Dies peacefully in her sleep of a cerebral hemorrhage on August 13__th __at 10:30 pm. _


	4. Calling

_**Disclaimer! **_**All fictional entities featured/ mentioned in this segment belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata; except Erin Blogger and a few extra characters not from the canon cast, who I made up for the purpose of this fan fiction. Any other unfamiliar names may be either other original characters or allusions to real-life people. The lyrics to "Misa's Song" belong to Madhouse Entertainment and Viz Media (I'm assuming this because the song only shows up in the anime so they must've made it up). "The Rainbow Connection" is a song from Jim Henson's **_**The Muppet Movie. **_

_**4. Calling**_

"My fellow Americans…the British, Chinese and United States governments have given the Japanese people adequate warning of what is in store for them. The world will note that the first atomic bomb was first dropped on…Hiroshima…a military base. We won the race of discovery, against the Germans. That was because we wished in this first attack to avoid, insofar as possible, the killing of civilians. We have used it in order to shorten the agony of war, in order to save the lives of thousands and thousands of Americans. We shall continue to use it, until we completely destroy Japan's power to make war…"

_Quillish wanted to take the plate in his hand and toss it at the radio like a disc, unable to bear the scrambled words worming their way into his ear like a tube scrubbing brush. But his upbringing wouldn't allow him to pitch a tantrum. A good gentleman waited until his company said what he had to say before responding. _

_But what was good about this? His parents' worst nightmares had been realized, broadcasted for the entire world to behold. Could this be real? _

"If Japan does not surrender, bombs will have to be dropped on her war industries and unfortunately thousands of civilian lives will be lost. I urge Japanese civilians to leave industrial cities immediately and save themselves…"

_Whatever her reaction was to the broadcast streaming in from the den, Cordie didn't share it, unyielding in her pace of washing the dinner dishes and handing them to the twelve-year-old boy next to her to dry. In fact, her pace seemed to quicken. Once she started a task, she seemed completely immersed in it until it was done. Quillish's mother had admired the old woman's work ethic and hospitality in this stranger's land, chiding her son now and then to be more like her. _

_Now that she was gone, Cordie had taken over nagging him. She hadn't had to, but Cordie felt a sort of responsibility towards the young son of the woman who had employed her, treated her with kindness, and paid her well for a foreigner from across the pond. This was far more than what she could expect from many of her native equivalents. _

_Besides, as it stood, all they had now was each other. _

_Cordie's wrinkling dark skin and olive eyes glistened with sweat and what appeared to Quillish to be tears poking through her eyelids. It'd been almost four years since she'd gotten that wretched letter about Otis and Walter, the generic one they sent to all families of soldiers and staff killed in action. How did she the news of this massacre of the enemy? Was she sad? Angry? Relieved? _

No. No, this isn't how it was supposed to be. Mother and Father never wanted this. They wanted the war to end…but not this way.

_His father had sacrificed himself for that exact reason. The last he and his mother would ever see of him, he had urged them to run. Out of the country where "they" couldn't track them down. Quillish had only been six at the time, his understanding of the direness of their situation limited, but not enough for him not to tell something bad was going to happen. He knew this much by the blanched, earnest looks on his parents' faces and the fear leaking into their words as he peered around the corner unnoticed. _

_The two sat next to each other on the pea-green sofa which suddenly looked sickly in the boy's heavy eyes. "We should go back to Britain, then!" _

"_No. Y-you might be safe there, but only temporarily. If I can be sure of only one thing about them, it's that they won't stop until they've conquered all of Europe, including Great Britain. You'll have to go much further than even there. The United States, perhaps?" _

"_Then come with us! Quillish is just a boy! He needs you in his life Isaac, and so do I!" _

_The pause before Daddy's resigned reply was one of the loudest things he had ever heard. _

"_Oh, Marie. My darling. I'm so sorry. But I can't. I'm the one they want. If I go with you, they'll hunt me down. And if you get in the way, they won't hesitate to shoot you both first to get at me." _

"_Y—you stubborn bastard!" cried Mummy, her fists pounding at him as she collapsed against him. "This wouldn't happen if you weren't so focused on everything you do!" _

_Quillish couldn't help but notice how she didn't try to break down the logic of his argument with her own, as she usually did when they disagreed. Was it because she knew deep down that his father was right about whatever they were talking about? _

_When he'd heard more than enough of his fill, he grabbed the waistband of his falling trousers and hurried back down the hall and into his room to scurry back under the covers, lying face-down with the blankets over his brow so they couldn't see how very much awake he was. He curled into a ball and pulled the covers tighter over himself to stop his shivering, to hide the suspicious-looking shadows creeping along his wall. Were these shadows "them?" If they saw him, they might hurt him. So Daddy had said. He suddenly felt cold, like a draft had overtaken his little room, even though the window was shut tight. _

_Eventually, he heard Daddy come in, felt his hefty weight settle on the edge of the mattress next to him. The warmth radiating from him had never felt more welcome, but Quillish dared not scoot closer. He was supposed to be sleeping. For an unaccounted length of time, he just sat there. Quillish could feel his eyes on him through the blankets, blue and sharp just like his. He didn't say a word. He reached out his hand to stroke the top of Quillish's head, pausing in between strokes. He might have been taking note on how similar his hair was to Mummy's, a soft light brown, almost blonde. Maybe he was milking their last moments together for all they were worth. _

_He heard a stifled choke. When the old man bent over to kiss his temple, his facial fair tickling his skin like fine fairs on a brush, Quillish could have sworn he felt a drop of something hot and wet splash his face. A tear. Daddy was crying, something he had never seen or heard him do before that night. If he hadn't had enough cause for alarm before, surely he did now. _

_He and Mummy were going away on a long holiday, he'd said, just the two of them. As much as he wanted to come along, he'd had to stay and work on that "very important project" he had ongoing. But he would see them again soon enough, and whenever that would be, they would go on the grandest holiday the three of them had ever taken. _

_Quillish just knew that Daddy was lying. His eyes and Mummy's gave him away. But he never called him out on it. He was a good boy. He would have to be for Mummy. _

_He'd given them the majority of what remained of their fortune before sending them off. He wouldn't need it, where he was going. Quillish and his mother could only imagine what became of him after that unusually humid morning at the station as the train whisked them away through a continent once again tearing violently at its brittle seams. Had he taken his own life to avoid capture? Had he taken it like a man and let them torture him until they tired of it and planted a bullet in his skull? Perhaps he went to join an underground resistance group and was killed in action? In the most ideal scenario, he was in hiding, still alive and well and thinking about them as intensely as they thought of him every single day. _

_Regardless, they never saw or heard from him again. A never-ending dread consumed Mother's mind as cancer did her body, and she had wasted away without the closure she had longed for over the next three years. _

_Now it'd been six since they'd left for America with thousands of other refugees from all walks of life, looking to escape the almost apocalyptic chaos, and here Quillish stood facing the stark reality that his father's sacrifice might have just been in vain. _

_But _was _it? It wasn't the Germans who had created and dropped those bombs. It had been the Americans, the Allies. Several people from Father's community had warned them of the Germans' intentions, and they had reacted accordingly. And it wasn't as though they'd attacked without provocation; the Japanese had struck first, slaying scores of their men and boys like Cordie's son Otis and husband Walter. _

_But did that make this right? They hadn't just obliterated men, but innocent women and children, as well. A weapon capable of such massive destruction did not discriminate, as much as many wished that it would. Like Death itself. Hundreds upon thousands of lives gone in a literal flash, and the ones who'd by some miracle managed to survive would live with the scars. Hundreds of children orphaned, just like him. _

"_Quillish. Quillish? Child, are you payin' attention?" _

_Quillish blinked back into focus to find Cordie waving another plate in his face. "You know the routine: I wash the dishes, you dry 'em. Don't get idle on me, now." Quillish could hear a strange tension laced in Cordie's words. _

"_Yes, Ms. Cordie. I'm sorry," he said, hastily putting the dish he had been nursing in his hands with the cloth into the rack to take the next one, still dripping suds onto the peach-colored linoleum. Cordie usually rinsed the dishes thoroughly before handing them to him. _

"_Know what the problem is? You distracted by that radio. Go on and turn it off when you done with that one, and get your behind back in here so we can finish." _

_Quillish had a feeling that Cordie wanted the radio off for her sake as much as his, but he obeyed without question. "Yes, Ms. Cordie." _

_He wasn't sure if he could stomach anymore of it, either. _

_That night he awoke to loud thumps coming from downstairs, punctuated by a crash. In a flash, he jumped out of bed and pulled the pistol out from under his pillow, preparing to take necessary action. Most boys his age had BB guns rather than actual pistols, but Cordie had bequeathed him one of Walter's old firearms, taught him how to use it. In the day and age they lived in, she argued, he would need to know how to protect himself, as she, her family and everyone before them had come to learn. Some people just didn't respond as well to coffee-sipping diplomacy as they did to the smoking barrel of a .38 Smith and Wesson™. _

_Mother would throw a fit when she heard that sort of talk in earshot. Violence was never the answer, she'd said. "Cordelia, are you suggesting that Quillish should pull out a gun for every quarrel he'll ever have?" _

"_I ain't sayin' nothin' like that. 'Course violence ain't the answer. Not the first answer. But get back to me when you've managed to reason with a mob who's come to lynch you 'cause you talked back to a man, or 'cause you made the same comments to a girl that another fella could get away with making 'cause he was white. Ya'll would probably fare better at it since you got color on your side, but you ain't from here. Some folks won't take too kindly to uppity foreigners like y'self, no matter what you say. Even if you're right." _

_What a strange country they had escaped to, Quillish would think to himself sometimes, pondering the irony behind a country that would so strongly oppose a fascist regime and yet seemed scarcely any better when it came to certain members of its own citizenship. _

_Now was not one of those times. Pistol poised and ready, he snuck downstairs, his pulse and steps quickening as he heard the muffled cries of a woman. _

Cordie…!

_Steeling himself, he reached the bottom step and peered around the corner of the banister with bated breath. There was Cordie on her knees out in the den, her head bent with her chin jabbed into her breast. Somehow she looked so small there on the floor, her body convulsing with stifled sobs as she muttered almost deliriously to herself. Scattered around her lay fragments of what used to be their radio, the messenger on which she'd taken out her frustrations. _

"_Lord, I-I need your guidance. I need it more than ever," he heard her croak, her shaking leathery hands clasped in prayer. "I'm…I'm not s'posed to be happy about what happened to those people. I know I shouldn't. But Lord…th-they killed Walter, and Odie. They killed my baby boy. Now they've lost all their Walters and Odies. And Cordies. I—sometimes I would pray for this. I'd pray that they would pay for what they did. With their _lives. _You know that, you know everything. Di-did you mean for this to happen, Lord? Did you mean for _all _of this to happen? Oh Lord, what must I do?" _

_Cordie threw herself to the floor, overcome by a wave to confusion, grief and self-disgust. She didn't notice Quillish's presence on the bottom step as he put the safety back on his gun, which suddenly felt heavier than usual in his hands. He couldn't bear seeing her like this, but he was frozen right there on that step, too paralyzed to try to reach out to comfort her. When they had first met, he had found Cordie's people to be rather overwhelming when expressing their emotions, especially on those vibrant Sundays during service at her church, the one place where they could let go of their frustrations. Even now a part of him was taken back. Cordelia had always seemed such a strong woman to him, his and Mother's rock since they'd left Father behind in Europe. _

_The longer Cordie's pleas went unanswered, the further he sank into himself. If there was supposed to be a perfect benevolent god above, one in whom Cordie had invested all her faith, where was He? How could He let these sorts of things happen? To her, to him, to Mother, to Father? To innocent people all over? Either He was actually a very nonchalant or a malicious god…_

…_or there was none at all. Who could know for sure? Maybe it didn't matter? Regardless, all the bad things that have happened were the fault of people and people alone. _

…

…

_But did people also have the power to do the same amount of good, if not more? Couldn't people change?_

_Having had enough, Quillish hoisted himself onto his feet, holding the gun in both hands as he stumbled off the step. "Ms. Cordie?" _

_The old woman tried to stop her weeping as soon as she whirled around to see the worried boy standing behind her. "Ah! Quillish. Wh-what are you doin' up?" _

"_I heard a crash," he answered softly. "I thought someone had broken in and…" _

_Cordie made an awkward noise when she saw the Smith and Wesson™ clutched in his pudgy hands, as she hid her mouth in her knuckles. "Oh child, I'm sorry. No, no, no one's broke in. I was just…" _

_There was no way to explain her carrying on. She had the damn radio scattered in pieces around her, for God's sake. Not that she didn't try to. She simply rose to her feet and wiped her eyes, puffy and red and aching, until they were dry. Quillish couldn't see what they looked like in the darkness. "I…had an accident, is all, stumblin' around in the dark. Bumped into the radio."_

"_Are you hurt, Ms. Cordie? It sounded like you were crying." _

"_This ol' bird can take a few more bumps, yet. Now off to bed wit'chu," she ordered, her voice getting steadier, or wearier, Quillish couldn't tell. "I'm sorry if I woke you." She started to pick up the pieces around her feet when Quillish spoke up once more. _

"_I can get that," he offered, assuming that Cordie was not going to discuss the source of her distress right now, not in the middle of the night. "In the morning, I'll see if I can't salvage it." _

"_O' course you will, Mr. Handyman," she said, her voice missing the mirth that usually accompanied those words when she found him tinkering with this or that. She let him take the pieces from her hands, his eyes straining against the shadows to find the rest on the floor. _

_Whether Cordie was able to catch a wink after that was a mystery, but Quillish knew he could not go back to sleep, that night. As he stayed up to fiddle with the odds and ends on his desk by the dull flickering glow of a shadeless lamp, he contemplated the tools in his hands. These tools, these hands, he realized, could be used to either create or destroy. To save lives or to take them. For peace or for war. The hands that made the bomb were responsible for the radio that kept entire countries connected. For both the gun and the dishes on which they ate their supper every night. _

_He became dizzy at all the potential he could and could not comprehend, all right here in the palms of his hands. In everyone's hands. _

_And to think that it was but a matter of intent. A choice. A chance. _

_Quillish knew then that he wanted to create. He wanted to save. He wanted to create in the name of peace so that things like the atomic bomb or even warfare as a whole would never have to be used again, and no more people like Cordie and Mother and Father would have to suffer. Most of all, he wanted others to know this, that it didn't have to be this way, if everyone could just forget their differences and embrace the boundless creativity that they all shared…maybe the world truly could change for the betterment of all. _

_Such were the musings of a bewildered and tender-hearted twelve-year-old boy in a strange land at the end of wartime. These ideals would never completely leave him, but as he would discover for himself later in life, it was by no means that simple. _

_Sometimes when one wanted to create, no matter how benevolent his designs, he found himself having to first destroy. _

…

"Nothing seems to have changed in the unsub's M.O. since the broadcast," Rester noted with a frown, his foot tapping as he scanned the newspapers scattered in front of him. His blond eyebrows knit together in concentration. "There's been a definite change in the media, though," he grumbled, finding himself unusually overwhelmed at all the articles posted on the incident. "I'm starting to wonder if this was a good idea…"

"_It is possible that he saw through it, I admit,"_ said the synthesized voice from out of the computer set up in front of him. The great Cloister Black "**L**" in the otherwise blank white screen seemed to glare at him, as though questioning his, well, questioning. _"But as I see it, one of two things could happen after this. Either the killings will stop or they will continue in the same pattern, if not pick up. I made that broadcast to cast attention on the killer…or killers, but for now let's assume the singular. If the killings stop, then it proves that the criminal deaths were murders, and that the killer heard and heeded the announcement. If they continue, the suggestion still remains that these are murders. Either way, attention has been directed at him and he may find himself trapped. He might even lash out." _

"There isn't really much of a pattern to begin with," Rester pointed out as he loosened his tie in order to release the heat building up from under it. His fingers twitched with the urge to turn down the thermostat. "The deaths happen all over the place, at random times and dates. They aren't all heart attacks, either; it's going to be a challenge to prove that all these suicides, accidents and natural deaths are really acts of murder. Unless…"

"_Yes. We don't want to have to reveal the notebook's existence, but we mustn't completely rule that out either if it comes down to that. Until then Rester, I want you to keep digging through the profiles of all the victims. There is bound to be something in their backgrounds that links them together, besides the fact that they're criminals of course. Oh. And stay away from the thermostat, please. It's fine where it is." _

80 degrees was fine, with this heat wave rolling through? Rester had worked in hot environments before as a commander, but this was a little ridiculous for him. At least all of those other times before there had been no AC or thermostat that could be adjusted. L was clearly not from this world. Even after they'd all started working together, he had refused to show his face to any of them. He kept himself locked away in a separate room from the others and communicated with them through the laptop. Only his assistant "Watari" was allowed to enter and exit that room, usually with food. Or, as Rester couldn't help but notice, toys and knick-knacks.

But he kept his thoughts on this to himself. L may have been strange, but he was the best of the best. It was because of L that at least they didn't need to keep worrying about the original Kira. They couldn't pull the plug on this case without him.

"_If you're hot, Commander Rester, I can have Watari set up another fan for you." _

"That would be…appreciated," he mumbled, cranking the level of the fan blasting beside him as high as it could go. Stacks of documents fluttered around him, bound together by clips. Rester's eyes were starting to droop but it was way too hot for coffee. So he reached over for the can of energy drink and held his nose to dull the taste of it, wondering to himself just how low young people's tastes had gotten if they could stomach this, never mind like it.

Around that time Watari shuffled past him again in his black suit and tie (even in hot weather a gentleman must be properly dressed), holding out in front of him a tray that consisted of a glass of juice with a bendable straw and a plate stacked with two sandwiches packed with peanut butter and Nutella™, each cut into four neat triangles. A typical child's midday snack. The two locked eyes for an unusually awkward moment before Rester averted his eyes back on the documents.

"Do you need another fan, Commander Rester?" the old man asked wearily.

"Yes, please. Take your time getting it, though," Rester answered politely. Watari nodded in understanding before continuing on his way. He rapped on the door with the "Do Not Disturb" tag hanging off the knob.

"It's Watari. I have your lunch. I'm coming in now."

"_So you may," _said the computer.

Placing the tray on the stand by the door, Watari used the card around his neck to swipe into the lock, undoing it. As he disappeared inside, Rester shook his head.

_It never crossed my mind that L could be someone with severe Peter Pan syndrome. _

Somehow he had a hunch that he wasn't the only here thinking this, sliding a glance towards McEnroe sitting across from him, who also held his tongue on the matter. The fan whirred between them, sweeping short blasts of cold air on both sides.

Inside the room Roger surveyed the multicolored maze of Legos™ set up throughout the perimeter. Taking a deep breath, he moved slowly through the narrow pathway, one foot after the other like a tightrope walker until he reached the center where his charge sat on the floor curled over his action figures.

As he bent down to set up the meal in front of him, he felt the boy's eyes bore into his hands. "You might as well give up."

Roger looked up, taken aback. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

"You're still in denial about him. We've tried every other lead already. I am sure you know deep down that he can't be anywhere else."

He sighed. "I know. I just…I suppose I'm having trouble accepting that."

When Mello had disappeared Roger was afraid that he would pull off a stunt similar to what B—Backup, Beyond—pulled when he had run away all those years ago. But time went by and all they'd met with on his end was silence. Matt had taken off not too long after he had, probably to find him himself. His whereabouts were shrouded in even more mystery.

Mello had always been something of a loose cannon, but would he really stoop so low as to use the same murder weapon as Kira had? Exactly how many people had fallen under his pen had yet to be determined, but it certainly had to be higher than Beyond's victim count. He was killing on a national, possibly _inter_national level, and the worst of it?

There had been no discernible purpose behind it all. Beyond had killed as part of an attempt to give L a case he could never solve, essentially defeating him. Light Yagami—"Kira"—had taken up killing to try to eliminate the criminal elements from society and to satiate his god complex. It was possible Mello was collaborating with a criminal organization, but outside of that it looked as though he had been doing this more or less on a whim, not to prove a point or to "benefit" society. Whatever scruples he had had, if only because of his admiration for L, he seemed to have abandoned since he'd left Wammy's.

But what would happen now with Near having just called him out on public broadcast? Indeed, though Near's, or rather L's announcement sounded like a rejection to another case, he had made it to get a reaction from the killer.

But Mello had been one of the top-scoring students in the House for a reason. After keeping such close tabs as he could on the Kira case, it was very likely that he saw through it. Still, according to Near, no matter how he should choose to respond, or even if he responded at all, the killings were now brought to the public's eye. The Kira followers were bound to have a field day about this, and the police, maybe now they would become more diligent?

Maybe. Too many maybes. Roger should have gotten quite used to the maybes a long time ago, but even if he had, that didn't make the situation any less grim.

Roger glanced down to see young Mello's photo tucked underneath a few Legos™, taken from a time when his blue eyes held more innocence than ice, though he had always had a cheeky smile. In his haste, Mello had forgotten about this photo when he'd left. His emotions had gotten the best of him, as they tended to do.

He wondered what the boy looked like now after all this time.

He wondered what he thought about the broadcast and how he would react to Near's preemptive strike.

He wondered what Watari would think if he could see for himself what the program had precipitated.

He wondered what L would think.

Most of all, he wondered whether this was all of their fault.

…

"_Be careful, God is watching, _

_In a street blackened by night, please link our hands together. _

_Even if I'm by myself and far away, He can always come find me._

_He comes to teach me everything He knows, _

_Even if I should no longer remember, _

_He will teach me over and over…_

_But what should I do once I know everything?" _

This song came to Misa's mind whenever she felt particularly melancholy. She couldn't remember why exactly she had written it; the lyrics and melody just came to her one day after her name had been cleared, before Light and Ryuzaki died. It had stuck with her ever since. It was her private song. "Misa's Song," she'd dubbed it. She never recorded it or sang it to company, she had other songs for that purpose. It was her prayer, her doubt-filled cry to whatever higher power was out there, if such a thing existed. Perhaps Misa was one of those people who couldn't function if there wasn't something bigger than her to believe in. She used to think that that higher power was Kira, like so many others. But…

"_Take care of yourself, for God is watching, _

_Don't hang yourself by your hand in a dark alley. _

_Even if you walk alone, He will always find you, _

_He knows, so tell Him your sins, _

_Oh, he knows, so tell Him your sins,_

_Tell him, even if you don't know His face…_

_But what will I do if Heaven's doors are closed to me?" _

Oftentimes when she was alone, a profound guilt would make her break out in this song from under her breath in her native tongue. It gave her relief, however fleeting. She couldn't remember what exactly she'd done to earn this feeling, but it gnawed at her from the inside-out. The feeling that for all of her disdain for the wicked, she herself was inherently sinful and almost nothing she could do would change that fact.

Her fingers left the sleek black grand piano, the instant she heard Erin's own singing and footsteps over the dark, soft notes, the loud nasally optimism of her voice erasing them from the air in a flash. She recognized the words as some of the lyrics to a song Erin had shared with her, "The Rainbow Connection™." One of her favorites, its most famous rendition performed by a banjo-playing frog.

"_Someday we'll find it, the Rainbow Connection, _

_The lovers, the dreamers, and me…" _

As far as Misa knew, her friend had never done anything particularly horrible, like she had. Not that she would wish that on her. In fact, she hoped that Erin would never have to feel that way for as long as she lived. She didn't know whether her capacity for forgiveness made her noble or naïve, more foolish than even her.

Let them say what they like, but ignorance may be the greatest bliss there was to be had.

Kimiko entered first and then Erin came stumbling through the door with bags in each arm. "Are you sure you don't need help with those?"

"No, no, I got 'em!" Erin insisted, twirling a bit on her heels as she tried to keep her balance. Whatever her deal had been the night before, she seemed to have gotten over it. So it seemed. No. Misa couldn't approach her about it, not yet. Soon but not now, not with Kimiko in earshot.

Besides, it didn't sound like a good topic to touch on just before a house-warming party. "Oh man, this is gonna be a blast," she huffed, plopping the groceries on the countertop when she reached the kitchen.

Misa couldn't help her smirk. She could recognize that flush in her dear friend's face anywhere. "Why's that? Because Steve's gonna be there?"

That made Erin stop for a beat, her ears burning into pieces of jerky on the sides of her head. "Uhm…well, yeah, I mean, it'll be great if he and his friend make it, but I mean, the party as a whole will be a blast, since you guys are hosting it. Who knows? Maybe he'll bring some guy-friends too, some nice guys for you. Oh crap, I forgot to tell him he could bring guests…"

"Oh. That could be a problem. Everyone's allowed one guest, but no more than that. We only have so much food and space, after all," said Kimiko, starting to put perishables into the fridge. Most of the furnishings in their house had bright neon stickers on them to help Kimiko around the house, since she could only see color and light in her one good eye. "And frankly, I wouldn't like to be left with a total disaster area to clean up when they go home."

"N-no worries, I'll just ring 'im up and let him know. I offered a separate invitation to Halle, so she can bring a guest, too, if she wants. Wait, did I?"

A playful impulse swept through Misa, pulling her to her feet and compelling her to sneak into the kitchen to pull out from one of the bags a jar of red glitter she had requested for. She poured a fistful into her hand with no one looking, then she snuck up behind Erin with her hands poised in front of her lips.

She puckered her lips as though blowing a kiss, blew as hard as she could—_pppft! _

—and assaulted Erin with a gust of red sparkles clinging to her face and clothes before Erin could completely turn around. "H-_hey! _What'd you do that for?"

"I'm granting you the love goddess's blessing. May you finally have the courage to make Steve your boyfriend by the big night, and your relationship gets the happy ending it deserves."

"What are ya, my Fairy Godmother? Gi-gimme that jar!"

Before long, the girls were taking turns throwing glitter at each other, while Kimiko stopped putting food away to see what the matter was. "What are you two doing?" she asked, unable to see for herself.

"Uh, nothing! Hold on, we'll be there in a sec."

Misa took advantage of Erin's moment of weakness to take a generous scoop of glitter and sprinkle it through her friend's thick brown hair.

"_Hey! _Cut it out, will ya?" she protested, reaching up to frantically pick at the shimmery specks clinging to her face and clothes. "This is a pain in the ass to get out, you know that, right? Augh, I look like a giant ruby slipper!"

"Everything's better with glitter, Erin," said Misa with a smirk.

…

"Are you sure you don't want to take the bus or something?"

"We're not that far. I made it this far on my own before you pulled up; there's no reason why I can't make it back just as easily. It's not like my house suddenly got up and moved farther away when I left it."

Matsuda tried to laugh at Soichiro's attempt at a joke, but it came out forced and nervous, like it always seemed to, these days. On his way back from work, he had found the Chief—well, former Chief, Aizawa was technically the Chief now—coming out of the store with a bag slung over his shoulder bearing groceries. Neither Sachiko nor Sayu were with him, only the polished dark red cane gripped in his right hand with dragon-shaped designs carved into it, a gift from Sachiko and Sayu for his birthday last month. His constant companion. His reminder.

"Yeah, but you look pale. And you're sweating a lot. Maybe you should sit down for a bit, have a drink—"

"Well…now that you mention it, I am feeling parched."

Matsuda started to turn to fetch a water bottle from the car, but Soichiro stopped him. "No, I have something. I've got it." He hobbled towards a nearby bus stop to lean against the bench, but didn't sit in it. Ever since he had graduated from the wheelchair, it seemed that he avoided all chairs and seats when the option was given. It was as if he was afraid that if he sat down for too long at any time, he wouldn't be able to get up again. Never again did he want to take simple things like walking for granted.

Matsuda watched him muster the feeling he had managed to regain in his left arm over these past few years to slowly unzip the fanny pack strapped around his waist. As a younger man who minded the trends, fanny packs looked unattractive to Matsuda, but Soichiro had gotten over the embarrassment of being seen in public with one of these a long time ago.

Perhaps Matsuda just didn't like it because it along with the cane seemed to accentuate his mentor's age. His frailty. He had just turned 53 and yet he looked like he was 66. Sometimes even older.

Matsuda felt helpless just by looking at him. He knew he shouldn't feel that way since Soichiro was doing quite well for himself compared to others in his situation, determined to be anything _but _helpless. But the feeling gnawed at Matsuda anyway, always needing to be helpful, even now.

Soichiro's gulps were deep and almost desperate, as though he were a traveler marooned in an arid desert and had just come across an oasis. Matsuda willed himself not to cringe, but couldn't help uttering out loud, "Gosh Chief, you must be really thirsty. Didn't the doctor say that you have to stay hydrated?"

The water bottle seemed to pop as he pulled it back out of his mouth. He wiped the corners of his chapped lips with his forearm before snapping the bottle shut. When he had finished slaking his thirst for the time being, the bottle was almost a quarter-full. "I'm getting my fluids, don't you worry. And Matsuda—"

"Ah, right. I'm sorry for calling you Chief. It's…force of habit, I guess."

Like a student used to addressing his teacher as "sensei," long after he'd graduated and left the dojo.

"Hey, if you want, I can drive you back home—"

"No, thank you. I told you, I got this far on foot. I'm sure I can make it the other way," he said, rubbing the melting bottle against his forehead to cool off.

"Hmm, okay, but at least let me walk with you. I can leave the car here and come back to it when we reach your house."

Soichiro took a deep breath to calm himself. He was tired of everyone coddling him, no matter how well he knew they meant. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Before the stroke, he used to be Chief of the NPA, a mentor, a husband and a father. A provider. A protector. A pillar. People used to need him. Now he couldn't even walk to the store by himself without worrying everyone.

Then he would remember how things turned out the way they were today. _Then again, maybe it's what I deserve…_

He was too tired to object. Matsuda was the persistent type, one of the things he had always liked about him, a good trait for any cop. "All right, if you insist."

"You want me to carry some of those for you?" Matsuda offered, pointing at the groceries in the bag.

"I only have one bag—"

"No problem! I've got one in the car. We'll split up the load. That just looks like a lot to carry by yourself…"

"…Sure. Thank you for offering."

When they set out the bags to divide things up, Soichiro noticed Matsuda putting most of the heavier items into his bag, leaving Soichiro with the fruit and vegetables. He thought about mentioning that he can at least carry the fish, but decided against it. The time wasted debating over who should carry what could be time used to actually get the food home before the summer heat spoiled it.

When they finally reached the block where the Yagami family resided, Soichiro tried not to look too out of breath in front of Matsuda. He heard the shouts of two children coming up the street alongside them, a brother and sister. The sister, her rich brown hair tucked underneath a pink helmet and her bony scratched-up elbows and knees padded, wobbled to and fro on top of a yellow bike for the first time, while her brother kept pace astride her with his hands next to hers on the handlebars. His golden brown hair bounced around his angled face and seemed to reflect the sun off it like a halo.

"_Big brother, I'm scared! What if I crash again?" _

"_Don't worry, I've got you. Don't think about crashing. Just keep your eyes forward and keep pedaling. And don't let go of the handlebars, okay?" _

He had just come home from work when he saw the pair out in the middle of the street. The day had been as hot and clear as this one, just after Sayu's seventh birthday, and Sachiko was inside getting dinner ready. Hastily stopping on the side of the road a safe distance back, he had stumbled out of the car and up the sidewalk, just in time for the moment of truth.

"_Sayu, I'm gonna let go of the bike. Just tell me when you're ready, and I'll let go. And when I do, keep pedaling and hold it straight." _

In a burst of impulsive confidence, she shouted, _"Okay! Let go, Light!" _

And he let go. Off sped his little girl, her path swerving and shaky, but she kept going, following her brother's advice except to break her concentration on the road to squeal over her shoulder. _"L-Light! I'm doing it! I'm doing it! I'm riding the bike!" _

He smiled at her, calling as he ran after her, _"That's it, Sayu! Keep looking forward, you're doing great!" _

Soichiro blinked again and the kids disappeared into the haze, their cheers and shouts still echoing in his mind. It had only been his memories running away from him.

Who would've thought that the same hands that had held Sayu steady would scratch out almost ten thousand known lives eight years later? That those same bright, kind eyes that had helped her find the confidence to ride a bike would look at him years later with such darkness and savagery as he ordered for his death?

_Oh Light. What happened? _

It'd been four years since that fateful November morning and still he found himself asking this question, each attempt at an answer as fruitless as the last.

The children and the bike were immediately replaced by the family car rolling down the street before it turned into the driveway before them. Sachiko had had a doctor's appointment today, and Sayu had needed the car to run an errand with a friend. In her haste, she had left her grocery list behind on the fridge for Soichiro to pick up.

He saw Sachiko slide out from the passenger's seat, Sayu from the driver's. Light had died before he could see his little sister graduate from the bike to the car, and Soichiro had been preoccupied with literally trying to get back on his feet. Sachiko had taken it upon herself to guide Sayu through that milestone.

Sachiko looked up at the two with a start. "Soichiro! You brought groceries? Oh dear, I _knew _I was forgetting something. You didn't have to—"

"It's no trouble. I needed my exercise, anyway," he answered more sheepishly than he meant to. "Matsuda helped me carry them back."

Sayu trotted around the front of the car then, her purse slung over her shoulder. "Huh? Hey, Dad! You got the groceries for us? You didn't have to do that. Are you okay? You look kinda flushed…"

_Your mother just asked me that…_

"Oh yeah, never better."

"Well, come in and sit down, dear. We can put the groceries away."

"No, let me help. I can do it," he insisted, remembering what the doctor had told him about exercising his left leg and arm. _Use them or lose them. _

"Good to see you again, Matsuda," greeted Sachiko with a smile as she took Matsuda's share. "Thank you for your help! How are you?"

"Doing well, doing well," Matsuda cheered back, bowing in return. Soichiro couldn't help but notice the deep blush running into the younger man's face when his eyes fell on, then promptly darted away from Sayu. Fathers were especially keen on these things. "Everyone on the force says hi, and so do my parents! They just celebrated their 32nd anniversary!"

"Ah, does your mother enjoy the gift I sent her?"

"Oh yes, very much so. She wanted me to give you her gratitude again, next time I saw you."

"Aww, their 32nd year? That's great! 32 is a lucky number, too!" Sayu chimed. "Congrats to them for sticking together for so long!"

No one noticed Soichiro gulp down the lump forming in his throat. He and Sachiko were approaching their own anniversary in September. Their 25th. An unlucky year.

It was a wonder sometimes how they'd stayed together for this long after all they'd been through already.

Or maybe it wasn't? Like him, Sachiko never backed down from a commitment once she made it. Even if she wanted to leave him after everything that had happened with Light and the Kira case, she could never bring herself to leave an old man like him to flounder around on his own.

He squeezed his eyes shut and adjusted his glasses as he headed for the front door. _Get a hold of yourself. Why are you even thinking like that, all of a sudden? _

"Ah, um, th-thank you, Sayu! I'll tell them that when I see them again! How have _you _been?"

Sayu waved her fingers with a good-natured smile. "Oh, not much. Just wrapping up this last semester at To-Oh, getting ready for the next one." Sayu had developed an impressive work ethic for someone who used to complain about having homework back in junior high.

Losing Light had made her grow up fast.

"Hmm, education, right? That's your major?"

"Ha, yeah! I want to become a teacher, probably for primary school kids."

For some reason, Soichiro was uncomfortable with the fact that Matsuda knew what his daughter's major was, even though it wasn't exactly a secret.

"Working with kids? That's pretty, uh, cool! Kids are the greatest!"

"So Sachiko, how did it go?" Soichiro asked as the four began to make their way to the door, apprehensive of her answer. "At the doctor's?"

"A clean bill of health," beamed Sachiko. "Though he did say I need to exercise more. Keeping house isn't enough, it seems. He suggested that I try yoga or something along those lines to help relieve stress. T'ai chi sounds more up my alley. If you want, we could even try it together."

While they all headed into the house, Soichiro pulled Matsuda aside to let the Yagami women in first. As evenly as he could, he said, "Hey. Don't think I haven't noticed."

The way Matsuda sputtered and stammered was all the confirmation that he needed. "Wh—n-noticed what? What're you talking about?"

"You're not that hard to read, Matsuda. I've seen the way you've looked at Sayu lately. Your face is bright red, right now. You like her, don't you? That's probably why you come over as often as you do…"

Matsuda looked like he wanted to drop dead right then and there as he put up his hands in defense. "_What? _No, no way! I-I would never—"

He couldn't exactly blame him. Sayu was pretty, there was no getting around that. She was bound to attract some male attention sooner or later, as much as the father in Soichiro preferred to deny it. And Matsuda was probably the nicest and most harmless guy he had ever known. Still…

"Well, you can forget it," he declared, calmly but firmly. "I'd never let Sayu marry a cop."

Though he had tried to be discreet about the matter, Matsuda's nervous outburst had attracted Sachiko and Sayu's attention back into the hallway where the men stood. Immediately Sachiko became as stern as her husband. "That's right, I'd never want that for her."

Sayu didn't deserve the heartache that came with marrying a man with a badge.

Matsuda looked cornered, shaking like a dog just spanked with a rolled-up newspaper. His tongue seemed to tie itself into knots in his mouth as he tried to explain himself, and when nothing came, he conceded with slumped shoulders. "Oh man. I never even got to tell her that I liked her," he moaned, not noticing Sayu in the threshold watching him with gentle amusement. "Y-you're too cruel to me, Mom and Dad."

"_Mom?" _

In an instant, the bag in Sachiko hands fell, with all the fruit and vegetables rolling out of it. Soichiro almost dropped his cane. _That _had come out of nowhere.

"Oh God, did I just say that?"

Sayu giggled, then. "Aw, don't feel too bad. Personally I think you'd be a good catch, Matsu."

The red-faced grin that broke out on his face made Soichiro want to roll his eyes. Poor Matsuda. Maybe some things would never change? "What? Y-you really think so, Sayu?"

"Yep! In fact, if you were just a little younger, I might have considered going out with you sometime."

It was a wonder that the hopeless would have-been suitor didn't completely fall over on his back. Sayu had indeed grown up over the past four years, reaching a maturity that seemed to surpass even Matsuda. Sachiko and Soichiro couldn't be more proud of her.

Another twinge of sadness surged through him as this sunk in. _My little girl's all grown up. _When he was still with the NPA, he hadn't been around much to see her or Light grow up. Justice didn't care if you had a family at home. And it certainly didn't care if the criminal you were trying to catch happened to be your only son.

Now Sayu had grown up, right before his eyes. She was in her prime, going on to do everything that Light would never get to. She didn't need him anymore.

As Matsuda tried to shake off the rejection and trotted into the kitchen to help put the rest of the groceries away, Soichiro noticed something fall out of his jacket. An envelope. With all the strength he could muster, he supported his weight on the cane as he bent in to pick it up. It was postmarked from Los Angeles, California, United States.

Ah. This must be from their young American friend Erin. A mix-up during the Kira case had brought them together when she was here in Japan studying abroad, and ever since she and Matsuda had found each other again she'd send cards and little gifts from time to time. The last he'd heard she was doing well for herself. He found another flowery greeting card inside the envelope, with a message scribbled on the bottom in crooked, shaky kanji below the glittery text. Just another reminder that she was thinking about them.

She always was rather sentimental. Sometimes loudly and overwhelmingly so. She'd often forget their native etiquette and hug everyone on the task force or slap them on the back for pretty much anything. She'd even give L or Matsuda "noogies" when the urge compelled her. Perhaps it was just a matter of age and culture that made it seem strange to him? Most of the young people in America probably did that sort of thing all the time. Still, her gestures were appreciated all the sa—

Huh?

His fingertips caressed the back of the card. He'd heard stories of people who became hypersensitive in certain ways as compensation for losing function of a body part, either naturally or through practice. His right hand must've become more sensitive in response to losing the feeling in his left, because he thought he could feel extra print on the back of the card. Was he imagining it? It wasn't impossible. But when he looked front and back, there was no extra printing.

None that was visible.

He turned the card over and trailed his fingers along the back. He held it up to his eye and squinted.

_What on Earth…?_

He glanced toward the kitchen to make note of how preoccupied the others were, whether they would notice if he walked away. When it looked like the coast was clear, he began his trek up the stairs, taking care to avoid the squeaky spot on one of the middle steps. Along the way he glanced at the stair chair lift attached to the wall. He'd suggested many times to have the thing uninstalled since he got out of the wheelchair, but Sachiko had been just as adamant about keeping it. She still didn't trust him on stairs.

He scowled at it. _Use them or lose them. _Biting back his bitterness, he pressed onward, taking it one step at a time with his cane hanging from the crook of his elbow as he held on to the banister for what felt like dear life.

Sneaking into Light's room felt like entering a mausoleum every time. Over the years they had given away most of his furniture and belongings. Whatever was not given to friends and family was donated to charity, as Light would have wanted (_which Light? My son, not the killer. But they were one in the same_). But they had kept his desk and chair as an altar of sorts, a place where his picture sat next to a vase filled with flowers which Sayu and Sachiko tended to every day. The shades were now always open, bathing the room in bony white sunlight, bright enough to spotlight the dust particles dancing in midair.

The way Light had kept his room in life, Soichiro was surprised to see any dust in here at all. But then, Light had always kept the shades drawn. This was his sanctuary, where he slept. Where he studied and occasionally stopped to help Sayu with her studies. Where he dreamed. Where he schemed. Where he killed.

Soichiro closed his eyes. Sometimes he could almost feel his son's presence, his rigid silhouette crossing the stains along the walls where his bed and shelves used to be. His ghost? Or was it just his grief getting the best of him again?

He hesitated for a bit when he approached the desk, trying to shake the feeling that he was violating something sacred when all he was doing was going through a few drawers. He stared into Light's frozen face from beyond the photograph. For some reason, his bronze eyes seemed to narrow at him in accusation and contempt, like he hated Soichiro so much even from beyond the grave that he wished he would die just like he had, or all the criminals—no, all the _people_ he had slain in trying to change the world.

Light had been his greatest failure, as a detective and as a father.

His eyes darted towards the floor. His hand reached out to brush Light's face before placing the picture face down. When he drew it back he felt a thin film of dust on his fingers. He rubbed it away into his sweating fingertips before taking another breath to steel his nerves and opening the top right drawer to pull out a pen-sized light. An ultraviolet light used to look for hidden messages written in basic invisible ink.

He clicked it on and shined it on the inside of the greeting card, his head rattling in sheer disbelief.

_You could do better at things like this, Blogger. _

Just then, he heard the rumble of a truck crawling up the street before he could fully immerse himself into the hastily scribbled message. He peered out the window. Sure enough he saw a tow truck passing by, the car attached to it very familiar.

_Say, isn't that—uh-oh. _

"Erm, Matsuda?" he called out into the hallway.

"Yeah?"

"Your car is being towed."

"Wh-wh-_WHAT? _No way! Excuse me, Sayu. _WAIT, COME BACK! THAT CAR BELONGS TO A COP! I HAVE THE BADGE TO PROVE IT! __**STOOOOP!**__" _

The force of the door slamming behind him seemed to shake the whole house. Soichiro sighed as he saw Matsuda scramble out of their yard and chase after the truck like a dog chasing a car yapping at it all the way. From the foot of the steps he heard Sayu chuckle, "Oh my God. Mom, can I take the car one last time? There's no way Matsu's going to get his back that way."

"Well…all right, but don't be out long. Watch for traffic, and I don't want to see any dings."

"Like I've ever brought the car back with scratches. Thanks, Mom! We'll be right back."

With the soft jingle of keys, Sayu was out the door as well. Like a scene from straight out of a romantic comedy.

_She's just helping him out,_ Soichiro told himself. She just rejected him after all. Nothing was going to develop between them. It'd better not.

Around that time, Sachiko realized where her husband had gone off to and called up to him, "Honey? Are you upstairs?"

Soichiro slipped the card back into the envelope and the envelope into his fanny pack. He'd have to look it over later. Not to mention Matsuda would have some explaining to do, the next time he saw him. "Yes."

A distant but unmistakable tension laced her next words. "You didn't use the lift."

"I didn't have to," he answered, more defensively than he meant to. He hobbled out of Light's room and peered down at his wife glaring back up at him, her arms folded across her chest.

"Soichiro, I thought we talked about this. You're not ready for stairs—"

"The doctor said—"

"I know what he said, I was there. That's why you go to therapy. But you're not ready to climb this many steps. What if you fell?"

"As you can see I got up the stairs just fine. If I'm not ready now, then when will I be?" he asked, his chest tightening with anger. "I don't need the lift anymore."

"And what about getting _down?_" Was that a challenge?

Soichiro straightened up, putting on his stiffest face so as to hide his anxiety. "I can do that just as well. Watch." He was making the turn to start his descent down the stairs when Sachiko made her ascent up them.

"No, stop where you are! You are _not _going down these stairs without the lift. Now what were you doing upstairs to begin with?"

"You can trust me enough to leave me alone in the house, but not enough to get up and down the stairs by myself? For all you know, I've been running marathons on these when you're not looking. And I didn't realize that I needed a reason to be upstairs in my own house."

…

He shouldn't have said that. Why did he say that? The look of anger and near-horror on Sachiko's face made him regret his words instantly.

"Ugh, I swear you've gotten so ornery ever since you got out of the wheelchair—!"

She stopped when she saw the blood rushing to Soichiro's ears. He didn't blush, he was too proud and reserved for a full blush. Instead, when he got embarrassed his ears turned red and hot, and he would purse his lips, tuck his chin slightly and dart his eyes toward the side. It had always been one of his many endearing traits in Sachiko's eyes.

Sachiko briefly covered her mouth, as though replaying her last words in her mind. "Oh no. Darling, I didn't—I didn't mean it like that, I'm so sorry—"

"No, i-it's all right. I'm the one that should be sorry. For, erm, being an ass…let's forget about it."

They had had their share of ups and downs like any other couple—if not more due to his job—but ever since Light's death, a dark cloud seemed to have descended over the house, and their marriage. Sometimes the cloud would dissipate, but it always came creeping over as thick and grey as ever. Sachiko had not only lost her son on that case, but she had almost lost her husband. Midway through the case he had collapsed with a heart attack, and just a few weeks after Light's funeral he was struck down again, with a stroke this time. If he fell on those steps, he was as good as done for. For all of his resentment on being constantly coddled, Soichiro couldn't say that he didn't understand where her overbearing stubbornness had come from.

He sighed. "I guess I was struck by the urge to see Light's room again. That's all."

Sachiko closed her eyes as her hand found its way to her heart. She bowed her head. "Oh. I see."

…

"Well, I should probably get started on dinner while we wait for Matsuda and Sayu to come back."

"I'll help." That sounded more like a question than a reply in Soichiro's ears.

"All right. But stay put while I get the lift up here."

…

…

His next few words came out thick and quiet: "Yes, Sachiko."

…

"You're rather quiet this evening, Takada."

"Oh? I'm sorry. I've just…had a long day at work. That's all."

"Is everything all right at work? You've seemed stressed lately."

Kiyomi maneuvered the chopsticks and placed another sushi roll into her mouth, eating not necessarily because she was hungry but in order to buy herself time to think of an appropriate response. She chewed on the fish, rice and seaweed slowly and deliberately, savoring the fresh salty flavor of the sea. She shut her eyes to give herself a break from her companion's sharp, searching gaze.

"Just your usual stresses that come with keeping the public informed on current events," she answered after she swallowed.

He had his hands clasped in front of him as he tended to do when he was thinking. It always looked to her as though he was praying to a higher power whenever he did that. In fact he had a rather peculiar habit of holding things with both hands—with the exception of utensils of course—as though they were sacred somehow. But he rarely said a word about his religious beliefs. Though he would have much to say about his social beliefs, one of the things about him that Kiyomi had to admit that she found attractive. They had met during a debate on Sakura TV, which she had hosted of course after Demegawa caved to her insistence that she do so, and they had been meeting each other after work at least once a week since then. Kiyomi could figure from his actions that he was a Kira supporter.

Just like her. Birds of a feather, she supposed. For birds, safety came in numbers.

"Is there…anyone in particular who has been causing you problems? Anyone who has been harassing you?"

Kiyomi froze, her glass just millimeters away her lips. Had she been taking an actual sip when he had said this she might have choked. No, that wouldn't be good. "I beg your pardon? Mikami, how on Earth could you jump to such a conclusion?" she asked as calmly as she could.

"You're refusing to discuss what goes on in your workplace. That's typical of someone who has been repeatedly subjected to a hostile work environment."

Perhaps Kiyomi shouldn't have been surprised. Mikami was a highly successful prosecutor. He was bound to have seen things like this before. "You know, there may be other reasons why I might choose not to disclose my work day. It could simply be because there is nothing important to discuss."

"Are you listening to yourself?" he asked, pushing his glasses back up against his pale face. "You're a news reporter; there is always something important going on everywhere you go. Besides, if there was nothing going on, you would be more inclined to sit up straight and eat."

Kiyomi fell silent, her grip on her glass tightening and her shoulders squaring. She heard them, then.

"_I'm sorry Miss Takada, but I'm telling the truth. We've already filled all the positions. I wish you the best of luck." _

"_Know your place, Taki. No one wants to hear your stupid opinions." _

"_Your head's like your ass; you gotta learn to loosen up!" _

She could still feel the sting of Demegawa's meaty, cigarette-stained hand slapping her rear. Nishiyama had delivered the second blow with a sneer as she glared at the back of his head while he walked away yet again, adhering to her philosophy.

"_It's dog-eat-dog out here, honey, and I didn't see anything."_

It was then that Kiyomi had realized that her breathing had picked up. The way her career had panned out so far had been nothing at all like she had hoped when she had graduated. The pride and joy of the Takada family, she got all the best marks and held the title of Miss To-Oh back in university. She had her share of suitors and had even briefly dated one of the school's other top students, though the end of that courtship had been one of the more sour moments in her life. But she pulled through it, and with her credentials she had been certain that she was a shoo-in as an anchorwoman at one of the best news stations in the country, like NHN.

As it turned out, none of that mattered after college. All the spaces had been filled, by women who with little doubt in her mind had slept their way into them. Sakura TV had been the only station that would give her a job, and as much as she had preferred not to be affiliated with them, she had convinced herself that it was only a temporary arrangement, she would keep sending out her resume until she found something better and besides she had to get her name and face out there somehow.

But here she was, all because she refused to put out for Demegawa. And so the desk went to Nishiyama, his not-so-secret mistress. Meanwhile her own parents wouldn't speak to her out of shame for having their daughter involved with such a trashy station. The debate had been a fluke. She hadn't gotten so lucky since then, and now her boss was hounding her for "payback" for letting her do it.

"So who is it, Takada? Is it Demegawa?"

She put down her glass and sighed. Really, who else did she have to talk to anymore? "Yes," she answered softly. "I admit, he's been…pestering me for some time."

A distant and strange urgency seeped into Mikami's voice then, his dark eyes flickering with conviction. "Takada, you're stronger than that. You can't let him get away with this. What happened to standing up for what's best for everyone?"

"I know. But it's not going to be like this forever. I'm quitting Sakura TV and planning to move on to something more credible."

"That's not enough. Between harassing you and using Kira to scam all of his followers out of their hard-earned money…Demegawa needs to be brought to justice. He must answer for what he's done. You owe that to yourself, and all the good people that he's abused."

Kiyomi loved that about Mikami. Most prosecutors were in it for the money or the reputation, but not him. He was genuine. It had been such a long time since she'd seen a stronger sense of justice in anyone besides herself.

"Believe me, I want more than anything to see that happen. But no one else will speak up against him. He surrounds himself with sycophantic idiots who let him use them to wipe his shoes off after coming out of the rain. I don't think I'd have much of a case with only he said-she said to go on."

She didn't see it coming when she felt his hand slide over hers on the edge of the table, his fingertips resting over her knuckles. Faint jolts of electricity shot up her arm at the gesture. It was an innocent, assuring touch.

"I will help you in any way that I can," he said. This had to be the softest that she had ever seen him act. Kiyomi didn't know what to make of it. "You have my number and I have yours."

That was not to say that she didn't welcome it. "Thank you." With her other hand she cleared her throat. "It's getting kind of late. So, should I get the bill this time or will you?"

"I will," he offered.

Mikami walked with her back to her apartment; it was Thursday night and her place happened to be on the way to the hotel where he worked out at their fitness center. Being the sort of man who ran on a schedule, he bade her good-night at the front at 8:15 so he could get to the gym by nine. Though the softness from that moment had since disappeared, he reaffirmed his desire to see Demegawa brought to justice.

Personally, Kiyomi didn't think it enough for that pig to be sued in court. He was one of those types that the world could frankly do without. But as much as she hated to admit it, she doubted any harm would befall him anytime soon. Four years had gone by since Kira's last judgment had been passed, and whatever had happened to him it was unlikely that he would ever return. But there were people out there who refused to abandon their faith. Demegawa could attest to that. For all of his scamming and pickpocketing, he did what he could to keep the fire alive if for the wrong reasons.

If only, if Kira could not return, that someone could step in and continue his work. He could have changed the world.

Once she'd stepped inside and traded her heels for slippers, she lit a candle. From her purse she fished out an access pass she had chanced across earlier that day in the restroom while washing her hands. The woman on the card flashed her sickly sweet, phony smile at her.

_Saeko Nishiyama. _

Kiyomi didn't waste any time tearing the card out of its plastic case. It wasn't much in the way of dealing justice, but it would have to do for now.

Outside her door the card had already melted down to the halfway point—she made sure to start on the side with Nishiyama's face on it as she held it to the tiny flame and imagined the woman going literally and figuratively up in smoke, despite her usual disinterest in all that voodoo nonsense—when she could have sworn she heard a swishing noise from her living room. Like a book falling to the floor.

_What was that? _

She dropped the remains of the pass into the jar for the fire to consume it. When she returned to the den she found a plain black notebook lying in the middle of the floor. It hadn't been there before.

The corners of her mouth twitched, her brow knitting itself together. _What the…?_

She bent down to pick it up and briefly flipped through it. All of the pages were blank. Where had it come from? Out of the ceiling? She looked overhead and found nothing. The roof, the entire room was the same as it'd always been.

For reasons she couldn't fathom, her heart began to race, its beating the only sound she heard. Was there someone in here? Why couldn't she shake the feeling that there was another presence here with her?

"Hello?" she called out. No answer.

She was about to turn and walk out to check on the candle when suddenly something large and shadowy plopped in front of her from out of nowhere, the shock and horror enough to sweep her off her feet. Before she knew it she was on the floor, all the blood draining out of her as she watched the shadow slowly rise up and take shape. A spiny, willowy black and white creature that almost touched the ceiling, it crouched on long grasshopper-like legs garbed in what looked like ratty pants.

The thing stared at her with pupil-less unblinking slits for eyes, scraping one of its six paws at the back of its mangy jet black mane. Good God, its claws looked almost as long as her head and neck put together! The scream that she might have let out stayed clogged in her throat.

And then it spoke, or rather whispered. Whatever mouth it had was hidden in rags, like a bandit from out of someone's darkest nightmare, and its breathy words were muffled under them.

"Oh dear. It looks like I'm too late."


	5. Refusal

**_Disclaimer! _****All fictional entities featured/ mentioned in this segment belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata; except Erin Blogger and a few extra characters not from the canon cast, who I made up for the purpose of this fan fiction. Any other unfamiliar names may be either other original characters or allusions to real-life people. **

**_5. Refusal_**

_Boy, I must really got it bad to be coming here on my own volition rather than having Misa drag me over, _was Erin's last thought before she pulled open the door to the salon. Really, there was no other reason for her to be here. She had passed this particular salon on her way to work a few times and after getting a few recommendations from some of her co-workers she had the not-so-inexplicable urge to pay a visit herself. She was all for keeping clean and looking presentable, but she rarely got dolled up, with the make-up and jewelry and all. She'd always figured that dolling up was for those extra-special occasions.

Well, this was as special of an occasion as any.

She didn't have anything too flashy in mind. Misa had told her a time or two that her hair might look really nice wavy compared to its usual straightness, so she decided to go with that. Better to come in knowing what she wanted right off the bat than to waste the stylists' time trying to decide on what 'do she wanted them to…do. She might have asked Misa to fix her hair, but the starlet was hardly at home lately and Misa had more important things to worry about.

She expected to hear a bell tinkle when the door opened. Instead she was treated to dolphin clicks and trills from somewhere overhead. Unexpected, to say the least. The receptionist glanced up from her books, her expression cool and glazed. "I swear it wasn't my idea, it was Stephanie's. We're putting those dolphin sounds on trial to see how people react to them. Anyway, how can I help you?"

"Oh well I like them. Who doesn't like dolphins? Good afternoon to you too, I'm Erin." Erin twiddled her thumbs in front of her. She clicked her tongue as she searched for the words she thought she had down before crossing the threshold. "Uhm…well…I, uh, I came here today b-because I wanted to get my hair done."

"Obviously. You've come to the right place. So is there a particular style that you're aiming for?"

"Is there a particular style that I'm aiming for?" she parroted half under her breath. Damn it, what was wrong with her? She knew what she wanted just a second ago. "Hmm…I did have one in mind. Hold on, lemme think…oh! Right! I would like to make my hair wavier! Yeah, that's it! Wait. D'you guys do walk-ins, or was I supposed to make an appointment over the phone beforehand or something?"

The receptionist was starting to look rather intimidating from where she stood. She was gorgeous: tall, shoulder-length blond hair and dark blue eyes and full red lips, with the curves in all the right places that were accentuated by her chic body-hugging top and skirt.

Hmm. For some reason Erin couldn't help but feel that she'd seen her from somewhere before. She cocked her head to the side for another look. "Hey. Do I know you?"

The woman rested her jaw in her hand, starting to look a bit annoyed. "I wouldn't think so, if this is your first time here. Typically we do appointments, but business is kind of slow today so we can just set up an appointment for you right now." She pulled out her pen and began jotting a note in her book.

Erin hummed. "I don't mean to offend, I just…I just have this feeling that I've seen you from somewhere before. Can't really put my finger on it…"

She spotted the sunglasses sitting on top of the woman's head. Suddenly a light bulb flashed on. "Can you put on your shades?"

"Why would I want to do that?"

"C'mon, just for a minute. I wanna see what you look like with them on."

She groaned, but complied with her request and slipped the shades over her eyes. In an instant the light bulb in Erin's mind exploded with a surge of recognition. It almost knocked her off her feet and the wind out of her.

"Oh my God," she whispered. "It's you! _Wedy._" No wonder she hadn't recognized her right away. During the Kira case, Wedy had always worn sunglasses around the place. It was amazing how one little accessory could change one's appearance so drastically.

_"Sssh! _Hello to you too. Don't call me that in public," Wedy hissed back. Adjusting her voice to a normal volume, she turned her head and called behind her, "Steph, I need to step outside for a cigarette. Can you cover for me?"

"Yeah, sure thing, Mary," another woman's voice answered from somewhere around the back, presumably Stephanie.

"Thanks." She turned to Erin and whispered, "You're coming with me."

Mary? Wedy's real name was Mary? She didn't really look like a Mary to Erin. More like a Jessica or a Michelle. Or an Elvira. Before she knew it, Wedy (Mary?) was pulling her out the door again, a pre-recorded dolphin squeaking its farewell to them.

"Your name's Mary?" she asked.

"Is that strange to you?" Wedy snapped back without looking at her.

"No no no! I think Mary's a nice name. I just, well…hey. Has anyone ever told you that you look kinda like Michelle Pfeiffer™? Yeah. You look a lot like her character Elvira, now that I'm looking at you. Heh. You got Elvie's attitude, too." Wedy didn't respond to that.

The two soon found themselves alongside the building where Wedy's honking huge red motorcycle was parked. Each took a side of the machine, like two businesswomen about to make a deal across a table, with one distinctly more experienced than the other. "Look, I'm sorry about almost blowing your cover, Wed…or should I call you Mary now?"

"Mary's fine. Don't talk so loud."

Erin promptly lowered her voice as much as she could. "Right. It's just, I-I didn't really expect to see you again, in my neighborhood of all places."

Wedy had her arms folded across her full chest. "Yeah, yeah, it's a small world after all."

Erin couldn't help the smile weaving into her lips. She hadn't gotten along the greatest with Wedy or Aiber during their time on the Kira case, and yet she often wondered what the two had been doing with their lives since they'd gone their separate ways. "How's Aiber, what's he been up to?"

Wedy shrugged. "How should I know? Do I look like his keeper? Just because we had the same employer and worked on a case together doesn't make us bosom friends. Although…last I heard of him, he donated a handsome check to this up and coming performing arts school, under an alias, naturally. Probably some of the spoils he ripped off from Yotsuba that he couldn't decide what else to do with."

"Oh wow," Erin marveled, surprised by this new piece of the puzzle that was Aiber the con man. "Like a modern-day Robin Hood, huh? Steals from the greedy to give to the needy."

"_Phht. _That's the idea," Wedy muttered, her fingers rubbing together as though she longed for a cigarette rolling between them. "He's always had a fondness for putting on a show."

"And you? How have you been? What brings you to LA?"

"I live here. This salon is my business. I own and manage it."

"Ah," said Erin, fooling with the brim of her Fedora. Even after all this time, it sounded almost surreal that folks who prowled in the criminal underworld could otherwise have more or less ordinary lives. Compartmentalization seemed to be a rule rather than a trend. "Looks like you're doing pretty well for yourself. I'm happy for you."

"Thanks. I'm happy for me, too."

Then Erin's smile fell. Would Wedy know anything about this L imposter? It couldn't hurt to ask. After all, she had to have known that that was an imposter who'd gone up on TV. Besides, she still had yet to hear from Matsuda and the guys from the former Kira task force. Any journalist worth her salt tried leads when she saw them.

"Can I ask you something serious? Since we're here."

"I thought we_ were_ being serious."

Erin swallowed the lump building up in her throat. "No, seriously." She cleared her throat as thoroughly as she could. "You…you know that thing with the 'L' broadcast a couple nights ago?"

After a pause on her part, Wedy herself became slightly quieter and unless Erin was mistaken, adopted a sharper edge in her voice. "How could I not? It's been all over the news."

"Okay, that's a given. But do you _know _anything about it, as in the skinny behind it? Like, who this guy is or what he's after? Why he would do this?"

…

Erin leaned in and put her hands on the seat of the motorcycle.

"Don't touch my baby, please."

She shot up ramrod straight and clapped her hands to the sides. "Oh! Sorry, I didn't mean to do that. W-well, do you?"

…

"Do you even know what happened to…?"

Wedy pulled out a cloth to wipe down her bike where Erin had laid her unworthy hands. "Do I know about him being dead? He never said a word about dying to me or Aiber. But the way he was acting the last time we spoke, I had my suspicions that I wouldn't be hearing from him again after he sent me on my merry way. And I was right."

Typical L. Always the secretive, stiff-upper-lip sort.

"So this—this new guy hasn't tried to contact you at all?"

"No. I'm afraid my guess about him is as good as yours. And in case your next question is whether I'd like to help you track this guy down, I'm afraid my answer is no."

Erin stumbled a bit, taken aback by Wedy's bluntness. "Huh? But don't you care about what's going on?"

Wedy glanced up towards the piercing blue sky above them, thin wisps of clouds gliding by like boats out on the water. "While I agree that what happened to my 'boss' is sad, I don't get blindly involved in things I have no business in. I prefer doing my own thing."

"Wh-what're you talking about? You make your living out of getting into people's business all the time. You were in on the Kira case, with Yotsuba and the stealing and the cameras and all—"

"That was different. We had a contract, not unlike what he had with Aiber. I come when he calls, I do my thing, he pays me, I'm gone again. At the risk of sounding callous, I've been officially a free woman since he died. Don't get me wrong, I like what I do. It's interesting at least. But as fun as it was to fuck with those guys, I got way too close to getting killed on that case, and even if dying's a part of life I'd rather not have it happen to me anytime soon."

A strain of indignity shot through Erin, and her hand found itself on her hip. "Well then if you're so worried about not dying, why're ya still smoking?"

Wedy mocked her by mimicking her gesture. "Smoking wouldn't kill me as quickly as a psychopath with a killer notebook would. And I'll have you know that I've cut down since you last saw me. Three cigarettes a day to go with my squares, and one or two in place of midday snacks."

"Hmph. That still sounds like a lot. Snacks would be better for you."

"Oh really? Smoking helps suppress the appetite, keeps your weight down."

"Oh sure. On account of all the chemo you gotta do when you get cancer."

"That's assuming that you do get cancer. Not everyone in the world gets cancer from smoking. You can't prove causation, you can only point out correlation."

The small gold chain necklace swung a little around Wedy's pale neck, and Erin could make out a pendant with a little bird carved into it resting against her breast. Not knowing at the moment what else to say, she pointed at it. "Say, I don't think I've ever seen you with that necklace before."

"What, this?" Wedy held out the round gold pendant, twirling it in her fingers. On the back of it, Erin thought she could see the word "Magpie" inscribed. "It's from my dad."

"'Magpie?'"

"Yeah. That's his nickname for me. Because I've always had an eye for things that glittered." A ghost of a smile flickered as she mentioned this, like she was reciting a fond adage from days gone by.

When Wedy didn't say any more about it, the moment became quiet and awkward. Erin wondered if Wedy had a good relationship with her father, whether he had anything to do with Wedy's refusal to look into the imposter with her. But she didn't ask. It was a miracle that Wedy had even opened up this much to her; to go any further would probably be pushing it. Besides, she did understand what it was like to fear for her life, and the lives of those she loved and cared for.

Perhaps her adventures in the underworld had made Wedy jaded, as it had L and Aiber and maybe even Watari, and all those other outlaws and shysters she probably would never meet (or if she had met them, she wouldn't know it). In the underworld no one got too attached to each other. They weren't allowed to.

Wedy broke the silence with some advice of her own, her affect turning cool again. "If I were you, I'd stay out of this too. You didn't have any business being on the case anyway, so you'd have even less to do with this. Dig any more into it, all you're doing is asking for trouble."

Erin nibbled on her bottom lip as she felt herself burn up from ear to toe. The weather did nothing to help this. Eventually she tipped her hat up out of her face. "I dunno, maybe you're right. Maybe it would be smarter of me not to dig any more into it. But…"

Then it was her turn to look up, her voice feeling thicker in her throat from a profound determination that condensed it. "I can't let it drop. I can't go on knowing that there's some shmuck out there parading himself around as L when I know that the real L is dead. That wouldn't be right. Not even he deserves that."

Surprisingly, Wedy didn't try to persuade her off her path. Or maybe she shouldn't have been surprised. Wedy couldn't tell Erin what she should or shouldn't do any more than Erin could do the same for her. Though she did give a cynical snort. "Well then, don't be surprised if you find yourself in deep shit later. And don't come back to me complaining about how I didn't warn you."

Erin resisted a gulp and kept her voice steady, trying not to let the implications behind Wedy's usage of the term "deep shit" sink too far in her mind. "Don't worry. I won't."

"Now, if you still want me to fix up your hair so you can impress that guy you've been eyeing, that much I can still do. I'll even throw in a discount."

Erin almost fell on top of the bike, but Wedy caught her by the shoulders before contact was made. "H-how would you know that I—"

Wedy smirked, knowing all too well the follies and fallacies attached to love, especially young love. "An educated guess. I've been around the block a number of times myself. Now let's get back inside. I need my AC," she said, pushing Erin back upright.

After a bit Erin nodded. "Yeah. Okay. That is what I originally came here for anyway. Thank you. One more thing, though…"

As the two moved around the bike and started to make their way back inside Erin stopped and held out her arms to Wedy.

"You're kidding, right?"

Erin's arms spread out wider. She didn't kid when it came to this sort of thing.

Wedy shook her head and rolled her eyes. "You're not kidding. Fine. I'll humor you, like I haven't done enough of that already."

The older woman stepped forward and the two shared a quick hug. "It's good to see you again," said Erin, the moderate scent of perfume wafting to her nose.

"You too, kid. More or less."

…

She had to admit that she felt kind of different with her hair draping down her shoulders in soft waves rather than straight down or tied up like usual. She felt…softer and prettier, somehow. Foxy, maybe? A little. She didn't know why, but she couldn't say that she didn't like the feeling.

In spite of everything, she found herself hoping that Steve would like it, too.

Hm. Should she even be thinking about this now? Somebody was out there using the notebook to kill people, and somebody else was walking around claiming to be L. Not exactly the most convenient time to think about the "D" word. And that was assuming that Steve would be interested in the "D" word with her.

_I guess whatever happens, I'll just have to take it as it comes. Especially since I've got no idea what happens from here. _

She tried to shake off the fear creeping up and down her spine. She hoped that Wedy was wrong, that she wouldn't be in _deep_-deepshit, and that the fucking Farley had warned her about wouldn't be _epic_-epic. But maybe this was wishful thinking on her part?

Still on her way an overwhelming surge of sympathy and perhaps guilt led Erin back to the store to pick out another small bouquet to surprise Mrs. Mora with. The lady loved her flowers. This time Erin picked tulips, pink and yellow ones that the florist recommended. They were supposed to express caring and happiness respectively.

As she stepped through the automatic doors, she wondered how the woman was holding up since they'd last seen each other. Whether she was still in the dark about her sons' fates. She clutched the bouquet a little tighter than she meant to, anxious about what Mrs. Mora would be like today. After all, people in her condition tended to be unpredictable.

The same charge nurse from before—Doris, if her nametag was to be believed—peered up at her from her notes. "Oh, it's you again. How can I help you?" Something was off with the tone of her greeting; it sounded tired and forced.

Erin resisted the urge to tug on her shirt collar and smiled. "Uhm, hi! I just, uh, swung by to see Mrs. Mora. How is she? Is she around?"

Doris glanced down at her papers, bowing her head as though mourning the passing of a longtime favorite resident of hers. As a matter of fact…

"I'm sorry. Mrs. Mora passed away Thursday night. She's no longer with us."

…

…

She felt herself go almost totally numb as soon as this bombshell hit her ears, even before her mind could process the words. The tulips dropped out of her hands and landed on the desk as quietly as a final breath. Mrs. Mora had clearly reached the end of her life, but Erin didn't think she would meet her end this soon. Just that Tuesday afternoon she had met her.

Only two days before she died. It was Wednesday, now. Just shy of a week.

"Sh—she's dead? O-oh my God…I told her I would see her again," she whispered, a hand darting up to cover her eyes which were already starting to water and sting. She thought she would have learned her lesson from the last time something like this happened.

At least her last words to the woman hadn't been in anger or hatred. Just an empty promise.

"If it's any consolation, it looked like she forgot about that after you left."

That didn't make her feel any better, but she silently thanked Doris for trying. "Did…she didn't suffer, did she?" she asked, her voice getting smaller as she struggled to reel herself back in from the shock.

Doris shook her head as she fiddled with the clip holding up her frizzled hair. "Not as far as I know. She went to bed happy and never woke up. Stroked out in her sleep. And to think only hours before our dear Estrella was singing her heart out for everyone on karaoke. _'La Bamba™,'_ of all things."

Erin pictured the little woman up in front of the crowd in her prettiest dress, situated in her wheelchair and cannula with a screeching microphone up to her dry cracked lips as she belted out an off-key but colorful rendition of an oldie from long ago and not caring a mite about how she looked or sounded doing it. She wanted to cry at the thought, but had just enough self-restraint to blink back and channel the urge into her hands, making them tremble.

She wondered—

_Whoa. Slow down, Erin. Why are you even thinking that? How do you know that she was killed with a notebook? Given how old and sick she was, it could have just been an ordinary stroke that happened on its own. Besides, what reason would anyone have to kill a sweet little old lady? She wasn't rich, she didn't have any enemies and she couldn't tell me much of anything about her sons; she wasn't even aware that they were dead. _

Had the person who had killed the Mora brothers also killed their mother? But what for? What if this was just a tragic coincidence that she was reading too much into due to the paranoia she had picked up from her time on the Kira case combined with recent events?

Well, at least she was content when she had died. At least she was with her boys again. Whoever issued her death warrant had been at least kind enough to give her a peaceful and natural one.

A mercy-kill. Erin wasn't sure how good or bad that was.

"Hey. I wouldn't beat myself up over this," murmured Doris. "People die whether their families or friends are there for them or not. We try to make sure that they are there, but…sometimes it happens, anyway. Sneaks up on us. Between you and me, you were the first visitor she'd had in a long time. I'm sure she really appreciated that, deep down."

"Y-yeah. And I'll bet she appreciated having good nurses to take care of her. Thank you for that."

Erin plucked a pink tulip from the bouquet and placed it in front of Doris. An offering for her troubles, small as it was. "Do you know where she's resting now? I still owe her a visit, and I think she'd really like these."

…

"What's going on over here?"

Soichiro and Matsuda broke away from their argument—or interrogation, as it felt to Matsuda—to see Aizawa and Ide marching up to them, their faces washed out from the strain and stress of another hard day's work. The news lately had done nothing to help their outlook, to say the least.

Soichiro tried to recollect his composure and bowed as deeply as he could, his hand gripping the cane shaking with a new intensity. "Aizawa, Ide…I'm sorry. I don't mean to cause any trouble, I was just—"

"Come on Matsu, let's get out of here."

The young cop didn't hesitate to take up Ide's offer of escape and he gladly stepped aside for Aizawa. He didn't expect Ide to swat the backside of his head as they walked away however.

"Ow!" he yelped, a hand reflexively reaching over to nurse the struck area. "What was that for, Ide?"

"You know damn well what that's for, you idiot," Soichiro heard Ide hiss in reply. Soon it was just him and Aizawa standing out there in the middle of the parking garage, though Aizawa made sure to herd them over to the side in case any cars should come by.

"What are you doing here, Yagami? What seems to be the problem?"

"Yagami." That was his title now ever since he'd lost the title of "Chief." The only one who still called him Chief anymore was Matsuda, and that was mostly due to force of habit. Aizawa was the Chief now, and it was already taking its toll on him from the looks of it. He had shaved away his old haircut and had begun sporting a very slight beard and mustache.

He didn't exactly have a reason to keep his face smooth, anymore.

"Aizawa, I'm sorry. I promise I'm not trying to start anything, I just, well…here. I wanted to ask you about this. Do you know anything about it?" He reached into his fanny pack and pulled out the creamy embroidered envelope, now wrinkled and moist from humidity.

A flicker of anxious recognition crept across his face, but he tried to cover over it. "It's a greeting card. What about it?"

"It's from Blogger. Matsuda came to my house and left it there."

Soichiro could have sworn he saw Aizawa's face progressively redden, the longer this conversation went. "That's not unusual. She sends us things like this every two weeks, sometimes even more."

"She wrote a message in here," he pressed harder.

Aizawa grunted. "Most people do that with greeting cards."

Finally, Soichiro had enough. "I wish you wouldn't try to play dumb like this, Aizawa. You're insulting us both. You know all about this. Whenever Matsuda comes across something like this, the first thing he'd do is show it to you the first chance he'd get."

The younger man growled to himself as he wiped at the sweat condensing on the back of his neck. "Matsu, that idiot. Frankly, I think Blogger's an idiot too for even doing something like this. She writes too dark, and to go through the mail—"

"That doesn't answer my question. Is it true? Is there—is there someone out there using a notebook to kill criminals again?"

"We haven't been able to confirm anything yet, but—no. No, I shouldn't even be talking to you about this," Aizawa muttered, more to himself than to him as his head rattled in self-admonishment.

"About what? Come on Aizawa, you've got to let me know if there's someone killing again!" he demanded, more forcefully than he meant to. But he could feel long-buried feelings creeping up from somewhere deep within him that chilled him to the trembling bone despite the summer heat.

"Why should I?" snapped the younger man.

A brief but tense hush fell between the two, each of them trying to rein in their emotions before they should say or do something very out of hand.

Aizawa closed his eyes and bowed his head, sighing, "That's not what I mean. Look Yagami, I don't know yet what the hell exactly it is we're looking at this time, but whatever it is, I'm afraid I can't let you get involved. You don't work with us, anymore. And even if you did I still wouldn't let you."

His voice took on that strain it tended to have when he was frustrated. "I understand how you feel. Believe me, I do. But what happened to Light…was not your fault. How long is it going to take you until you finally accept that?"

Soichiro drew back slightly. This wasn't what he'd wanted to hear, but he couldn't deny the honesty behind Aizawa's words. _Truthfully, I don't know if I'll ever be able to accept that. I may not have made Light do what he did—I can't even be sure of that much—but that doesn't change the fact that I could have saved him. I _should have _saved him, as his father and as an officer of the law. I could have proved to him that he was wrong…instead of wasting all that time trying to prove to L that _he _was wrong, or that _I _was wrong to even listen to him. _

_And now they're both dead. All of those people dead…because I did nothing. _

"And what about this new 'L?' Who do you think he is, and why would he go on American broadcast to announce that he won't help the police?" Admittedly, Soichiro had been debating with himself on how to approach Aizawa ever since Matsuda had left that card at his house. But after hearing about this L-imposter, his hesitation had flown away.

Aizawa pinched the spot between his eyes, as though trying to defuse the pressure that was no building up in his head. "Your guess is as good as mine. Whoever that is, he hasn't contacted us at all. So he's probably keeping his word."

Soichiro knew better. Aizawa had been plagued by this news and his own theories on it ever since word had gotten out. He could have been lying to him for all he knew. But as he had said earlier, he was not going to discuss it with him.

"I think it's best if you went home now, Yagami. I'm sorry, but you can't work with us and that's that," he affirmed, not the type who liked repeating himself. "Do you want me to call you a taxi or something?"

"No. I'll be all right. I can make my own way back. Thank you, anyway. Here. You might want to keep this as evidence," the ex-cop said, trying not to sound bitter as he handed over the greeting card. There wasn't much he could say to persuade the former Kira task force members to change their mind about letting him investigate whatever this was with them. He understood their reasons. As much as he'd prefer to deny it, the first case had compromised him. And the last thing he needed now was to get forcibly removed from the premise for being unruly.

…

There was nothing stopping him from doing some investigating of his own, however. After all, there wasn't much else for him to do these days.

In fact, maybe it was better if he worked independently from the others? They wouldn't be dragging each other down, that way.

Or so he told himself to ward away the feeling of being left out in the proverbial cold as he apologized for making a ruckus and wished Aizawa a good weekend before making his exit. Still, he couldn't help throwing in, "Still, in the future if you find that you need a—"

"Please, just go home, Yagami."

"Right."

Aizawa watched his former boss amble away on his cane, unsure as to whether he should be worried that he would seemingly give up so easily on trying to get back to work with them. There really wasn't much that he could do as a civilian.

He grunted to himself. _I wish I didn't have to do that to him…but we can't let him join this case. There's no telling what he would do after what happened on the first one. And that's assuming that we're looking at someone who's using the notebook to kill criminals. _

_There could be more than one killer, for all we know. _He felt himself grow nauseous at that possibility. _And if there is, how do we keep them from contacting each other? Assuming that they haven't already…_

_Or maybe this new guy is just smarter and is killing in a way that would make us _think _that there's more than one killer. And they're not just concentrated in the States, either; this person or persons have been keeping their body count roughly equal in all nations compared to Light who concentrated on Japan. It's gonna be a challenge to pinpoint where they are, never mind who they are. _

_Lately I find myself not sure of anything, anymore. And this new "L" isn't doing anything to help matters. _

He didn't expect L—the first one, that is—to be privy with them about the mechanics behind his title—whether he worked solo or was really part of an underground organization of "L's"—and of course, he had taken his many secrets with him to the grave. But all the same, a swell of old and new resentment crept through him as he thought about the strange arrogant raven-haired man who ate more sweets than a pre-diabetic kindergartener and acted as such. Whatever secrets he'd kept, they sure could have been useful now.

As he slid into the driver's seat of his car, he gripped the steering wheel and sat there, breathing deeply so as to collect his cool. Whatever Blogger knew—or thought she knew—he hoped that she hadn't gone to anyone else yet. It wasn't likely. She might not have bothered to try contacting them if she felt that she could go to anyone else. All she had was the word of the task force to back up her story.

Even so, he couldn't have her jumping the gun on them. Matsuda had her number, and the two of them had left messages for her warning her not to go to anyone until they could figure out how to handle this. Matsuda had kept missing her, so in a bout of frustration over their game of phone tag, he had taken it upon himself to reach her over Skype™. By the grace of whatever benevolent force there was out there, he'd managed to catch her over her lunch break a few days ago.

It had been arguably the first time in his life in which he'd felt like an idiot next to Matsuda. Then again, he hadn't exactly had the time or interest in any sort of social networking outside of case work.

…

_"Is the camera on, Matsu?" _

_"Yeah, yeah, it's on. Go on, say something." _

_"O-oh my God, Aizawa? Matsuda?" _

_"Ah. She can see and hear us. Hello, Blogger." _

_"Hey guys! Boy, you're a sight for sore eyes! How are things?" _

_"They're fine. Listen, before we go any further, are you alone?" _

_"Oh. Getting straight to the point, huh? Uh…not exactly. I'm at the café, right now. I can't exactly go outside because then I'd lose my Internet connection. But maybe if I put my headphones in and, you know?" _

_"Hm. I _guess _that could work. I'll give you a minute to do that." _

_…_

_"Listen. We got your card." _

_"And it was a very nice card, thank you, Erin!"_

_"Matsuda." _

_"Erm, sorry." _

_"…You haven't gone to anyone else about it since then, have you?" _

_Erin opened her mouth to speak, but snapped it shut at the last minute. She shook her head instead. _

_"Okay. Now wouldn't be a good time to go into more detail, so I'll make this quick. Can you at least promise us something?" _

_Nod. _

_"Keep this between us. You shouldn't be going to anyone else at the moment, not until we can figure out what to do. It's just safer that way. Do you understand?" _

_Nod. Erin pinched her trembling fingers and trailed them across her lips as though she was zipping them. _

_"I don't mean to sound curt, but we'll try to contact you again when we can. In the meantime, please don't make any unnecessary moves." _

_Nod. He could see her turning paler. _

_"Thanks, Blogger." _

_"Aizawa, it's okay to call her Erin, y'know. We've known her long enough. Oh, I just noticed, did you fix your hair? You look great!" _

_Sheepish grins. _

_Glare. _

…

Blogger wouldn't be that stupid as to blab to anyone else. If that were the case, the press would be having a field day by now.

Aizawa opened his eyes again. He didn't want to think about this, right now. The last thing he needed was to look upset when he came over to Eriko's to pick up the kids for another weekend. No more bringing home the stress or bad tidings from work. Every other weekend from Friday to Sunday, he put away his badge and let the father in him take control and give Yumi and Anika all the attention they deserved.

Or so he should have done, but hadn't lately. He had stood them up for the past two weekends now, regardless of whether he'd wanted to. He hoped that they wouldn't be too mad at him to enjoy this weekend, not that he could blame them if they were. It'd been almost two years since they'd started this arrangement and here he was still struggling with the realization that Eriko was right. Things really hadn't changed that much since they'd split from the way they were when they were still together. Taking on the position of Deputy Director had dealt the final blow to what they had salvaged from their relationship after the Kira case.

Maybe that explained why the girls had adjusted as well as they seemed to? The only real change for them was that their home had become two separate ones, one of which they called their home every other weekend, if they were lucky.

They were a lot alike, he and Yagami: both looking to redeem themselves as parents, as detectives, as people. He had tried to redeem himself as a husband, but in the end sometimes love isn't enough to keep a marriage together when you simply cannot be there to make it work, physically or otherwise.

Was there no way to reconcile the three without having to give one of them up?

Shuichi swallowed the annoying lump budding in his throat, strapped on his seat belt and jabbed the keys into the ignition. As he waited for the engine to sputter to life and shifted the car into reverse, he peered into his rearview and practiced his smile for when he pulled up to the front of Eriko's apartment complex. Thinking about seeing his kids there ready with their backpacks helped, a little. He hoped Yumi would like the hastily wrapped present he'd gotten for her birthday that sat on the floor on the passenger's side.

Even if it was late.

…

"Now let's see. Do I want to wear jeans, or a skirt? Jeans…or a skirt…?"

"If you asked me, I think you should do something different. You're always wearing pants, so wear a skirt this time."

"Y-you really think so, Misa?" asked Erin, still shifting the two articles of clothing to the front of her so as to discern which would look better on her.

"Of course! You wouldn't have bought it if you weren't thinking about wearing it, would you?" said Misa from the doorway. "There's nothing wrong with getting a little girly now and then. Let your hair down! No, really. Let it down so you can show off its waviness!"

After a moment of tongue-roving contemplation she made a decision. "You know what? What the hell, I guess it wouldn't hurt to be different. The skirt it is, then." It was modest yet liberal enough, cut just above the knee and picked to match the bright blue shoulder-less top she'd found earlier. It had been a while since Erin had donned a skirt. Perhaps she was more accepting of wearing one because she'd had a choice on her wardrobe this time?

Misa saw the rouge and mascara scattered around the sink and clapped her hands. "Yay, I see you're pulling all the stops for tonight's bash! You need any help putting on the make-up?"

"Uh, I guess I could use some help painting my lashes. I don't wanna wear _too _much, though."

"No one said you had to. You're not one of those girls that need a lot of make-up to look pretty. Besides, you've seen all those unsavory pictures in the magazines of stars without their make-up; that's what happens when you wear too much for too long."

The rouge hadn't even been applied yet and Erin could already feel her face turn red. Maybe she wouldn't need it? "Thanks, Misa," was all she could say to that.

"Put on whatever you're wearing first and then we'll do the make-up. Say, what are you doing about shoes?"

"I got sandals. I'm sorry, but I can't do high heels. Heels don't like me very much."

"Well okay, but you should know that heels are the hottest shoes to wear when you're trying to attract a guy. Appeals to their, ahem, primal urges. Anyway, did you get pantyhose at least? Socks don't look good in sandals."

Erin felt like dying right then and there. "Aw, stop! I just wanna look nice, that's all! But yes, I did remember to get pantyhose."

Suddenly Misa's face lit up, as though remembering something important. "Ooh! One more thing, be right back!" She zipped out of the bathroom and returned not too long after with a shiny object in her small hands, a gold hairclip with flowers carved into it. Lilies, if Erin was not mistaken.

"Wear this in your hair," she said. "I wore this clip when I first met Light. It might give you the same kind of luck with Steve."

Erin didn't answer for a beat. _Good luck or bad luck? _

"Uh, shucks, Misa! Thank you! You don't have to—"

"Aap-aap-aap! We talked about this, haven't we? I do what I want. It's what I do."

"All right, Mis, but fair warning: not everyone's gonna have the same opinion as you."

"People can't say no to me, remember?"

She tipped her head back to give the shorter girl easier access and felt Misa comb her dainty fingers through her freshly washed hair before inserting the clip and snapping a thick enough lock of it into place.

The same fingers that had killed hundreds of people four years before. The same fingers that had manipulated and scratched and slapped and punched. An unwelcome tremor shot down her neck and spine when these fingers briefly brushed against her scalp.

Misa stopped trailing her fingers through her hair and looked over Erin's shoulder. "What's wrong? You've got this weird look on your face."

"Huh, what? Oh, nothing, I just—I can't believe how well this is coming along. I feel transformed already. And I guess I've got the pre-party jitters."

_What the hell's wrong with me? It's like ever since this thing with the new killings and L-imposter…Misa's not that person anymore. So why do I feel strange when she touches me? _

_You know? She hasn't said a word hardly about all this stuff on the news. Maybe she ignores it? Maybe she doesn't have an opinion on it? Or…_

"Are you still upset about that stupid broadcast?"

Oh crap. Why was Misa bringing this up now? Well, it had been all over the news as Wedy said. _All right, Erin, just act natural. _

"What broadcast?"

"You know the one. I think that L is a big jerk to pull something like that, if you asked me. He hasn't changed at all over these past few years. It's because of him that Kira got away and Light and I got tied up and isolated for something we didn't even do and Light and Ryuzaki died. And from the sound of it, he isn't sorry about it, either." The idol snorted, "At least he's being honest about not helping the police, this time. Or maybe he's just bluffing 'cause he doesn't want to admit that Kira's too smart for him to catch."

It was hard to tell what she still remembered and what she had forgotten about the Kira case besides the obvious. She must have forgotten that Ryuzaki _was _L and that he had in fact died when he wrote his own name in her notebook.

"Do…you think Kira's still out there?"

Misa shrugged, her tone a little too frivolous for the topic of their conversation. "Who knows? Murder is murder no matter who you do it to, and whatever he's up to now I have faith that eventually his karma will catch up to him if L and the police don't. That's usually how it works, right? Oh, look at you. We'd better stop talking about this; you shouldn't be looking sick in the wake of the biggest house party ever. You won't be able to knock out Steve if you look knocked out yourself."

Yes. Misa's attitude towards Kira had definitely changed since Light's death.

But what if that hadn't happened? Would Misa still admire Kira as a vigilante superhero if Light hadn't died (even if the two were one and the same)? Just as her admiration for him began after he'd killed the man who'd slaughtered her parents, would it be just as strong as long as he went after other people besides those she cared about?

_Misa can't be that near-sighted. Even if she was, she's not that different from most people. It seems that the less relevant something is to us and our daily lives, the less we care about it, no matter how horrible or even how good it is. I'm guilty of the same thing, huh? I always thought that Kira was bad, but I didn't really think about HOW bad until I got involved and saw for myself. _

_If I'd never met L, would I care nearly as much as I do about what's happening now? _

_…_

_Ugh. I don't like philosophizing. Sometimes it takes me to places I don't like to go. Anyway, you should do your part, but you can't expect to fix everything. At least not on your own. Aizawa said I can't do or say anything else until they've figured out what to do about this. I didn't tell him that I bumped into Wedy before he contacted me and asked her about the L-imposter. Not that I could right then and there, but should I have? That's the only person I've spoken to about it, and Wedy said that she didn't want to get involved. _

_Still…I probably _should _mention it to him later, after the party maybe when everyone's gone home and gone to bed or something. Just so we're on equal footing. And if I can't reach him, then I could probably get Matsu. Late night over here should be, like, early in the evening or something over in Japan, right? _

_Besides, Aizawa's probably spending this weekend with his daughters. I'd hate to encroach on that. _

As Erin wallowed in her thoughts, she watched Misa pull away to admire her work on her eyelashes. "Totally flutter-able! You need help with the rouge, too?"

"Nah, I think I got that. Thank you, though."

"It's okay to have jitters before a first date, but you gotta relax! Just be yourself and let nature take its course, if you two like each other as much as it looks like you do."

Erin thought about correcting Misa's use of terminology and telling her that this wasn't a date, but found that she couldn't. She had to admit, in her wildest of wants she did kind of hope that Steve would like her as much as she liked him, or at least be getting there after tonight. Silly as that sounded.

Maybe this party would be good for her. It never did anyone good to constantly dwell on problems. Now and then a break was needed, especially if there wasn't much else she could do about it now.

…

"Name?"

"Matt."

"Last name?"

"McDean."

"Matt McDean?" Kimiko said out loud, using the pencil that had been previously tucked behind her ear to scratch her head. "That doesn't sound familiar…is Matt McDean on the list?" she asked, lending her clipboard to the muscly stern-looking fellow with a shaved head standing next to her.

"Yeah," he said gruffly, keeping one of his arms folded across his chest as he trailed a big finger underneath a name. "Matt's one of the tech guys from the filming crew. I work with him."

"Oh. Misa really did invite everyone, didn't she? No wonder the phone's been ringing off the hook. Have you brought your own alcohol?"

"No. I don't drink."

"A wise policy. Well, if your name's on here, then come right in. Have fun and don't make too big of a mess," she said with a smile and a bow.

"Thanks, I'll try."

The bouncer translated Matt's words to Kimiko for her as Matt squeezed in between them. In a matter of minutes the house had become a tumultuous ocean of people and strobe lights and music and laughter and food and whatever booze Kimiko had permitted on the premise.

What was it about most teetotalers that made them dull stick-up-the-ass killjoys? Somehow the ones that happened to be ex-boozers were worse. You couldn't just cut things cold turkey; that was the worst way to approach an addiction.

Matt would know, wouldn't he?

The first thing he did was stake out a discrete corner in the backyard where the DJ and "dance floor" was, a space not already occupied with people undressing each other with their eyes, and light up a cigarette. People-watching was all he'd come here to do, after all.

…

The red Solo™ cup in Erin's hands was getting increasingly slippery, either from the condensation, the humidity or the sweat building up in her palms, or a combination of the three. She could feel the beat of the rave music blasting from the speakers across the yard at barely legal levels pounding up through her feet and rattle every cubic inch of her body. Or was that her heart pounding in her chest that the music had only amplified?

She'd been standing out by the koi pond with a few of Misa's co-stars, trying to make idle chit-chat with them so as to keep herself distracted from the sight of Stephen shaking it out there in the center of a circle of people—mostly women—and looking very comfortable around them, all smiles and jokes. Halle wasn't with him as far as she could see, probably gone to get a drink or use the bathroom or something. From what little she'd seen of her, she wasn't much of a dancer.

Erin wiped at the back of her neck with the moist napkin clutched in her other hand. She hadn't worn her Fedora for this, Misa had said it made her look dorky and offset her entire wardrobe, no offense meant. But now she was wondering if she should just go on and fetch it from her room. The strings of lights dangling above them suddenly had become too bright for her. She found herself running out of things to say to her neighbors, oddly enough.

_Misa must've really charmed the heck out of them if they all wanted to come to her party. Although they could have…other motives, too. _The fact that her main co-star, the "hero" of the movie was currently ogling said idol in a clearly out-of-character moment while she did her thing was not lost on her. At least Ryuga had been a sweetheart. She still couldn't understand why they would break up.

"Look if you absolutely must, but don't touch," she warned him. "She's not interested."

"She could've fooled me with her acting."

"I mean it, man. Hands off while you're off-set. And even when you're on the set."

"I'll try, but that would make our love scenes a bit less convincing, don't you think?"

Erin didn't know what to make of that comment besides the obvious. Back when Light and Misa were together, she wouldn't even kiss another guy during a love scene. She could still remember the time they'd called Light out just to be a stunt double for her co-star/future ex-boyfriend. At the time Erin had thought Light was sweet to do that for her in spite of his reluctance.

She wondered now if he really did do that out of love, or rather to appease her so that he could get something in return later, albeit unconsciously.

In any case, now that Misa was unattached it sounded as though she had far fewer inhibitions about those sorts of scenes anymore.

By this time, Misa was shooing the girls away, presumably to get herself more space. She locked eyes with Erin, her grin dangerously close to splitting her flustered face. Keeping her hips swaying to the beat and feet in step, she threw an arm over her head and began to twirl her wrist, as though about to throw a lasso at her. All those years of playing DDR™ were really paying off for her.

_Oh no. She isn't. _

Oh yes, she was. Misa threw her pretend-lasso her way and began grasping at the air in front of her like she was pulling her in onto the dance floor to join her.

Erin swallowed, her throat dry despite having guzzled down all of her Sprite™. _Come on Erin, you can't just leave her hanging. What's the worst that can happen? You embarrass yourself? Everyone's too busy embarrassing themselves to notice. That's what a party's all about, isn't it? _

She took the deepest breath she could manage at that moment and slammed her cup onto the snack table. She leapt forward and twirled her way through the sweaty writing masses of bodies, playing along with the idea of getting roped in, and threw around "Excuse me's" and "Sorry, coming through's" whenever she knocked into someone. Soon she found herself joining hands with her friend and though she wasn't the greatest dancer there ever was and to be frank had no idea what she was doing, she tried to let the rhythm of the music guide her movements. She also found it easier to take after Misa, who was clearly the more experienced of the two.

"Glad to see you finally getting into it," Misa shouted over the din, her ponytails swishing around her face. Naturally, she was decked out for the occasion with her short lacy pink dress, boots and fishnets, with some of her favorite necklaces swinging around her neck.

"What can I say?" panted Erin. "Sometimes I need a little push. Or pull, as it were. Hey, just a heads-up: I think the guy you're co-starring with is a lech. He's been ogling you. I told him to back off, but I'd watch out for him."

"I'll say. You tell me that like I didn't already know."

Misa's smile again became playful, bordering on mischievous. But in all the commotion Erin didn't see that as they transitioned into the next dance number. The selection tended to switch back and forth between American and Japanese pop, all of them irresistible to dance to no matter what the language (Erin couldn't help but notice that a few of Misa's songs had been smuggled into the mix, but hey, this _was_ her party).

About four minutes in her head started to feel light with the rush of endorphins flooding through her system, and the less she cared about how she must've looked wiggling around next to Misa. She even almost forgot that Steve was just a couple feet away.

Misa made sure she remembered, though, when she bumped into her, gave an unusually strong thrust of her rear for someone her size and sent Erin tumbling backwards into the crowd, and into someone's reflexive arms.

"Gee, thanks," she exhaled.

"No problem. Hey, I've been looking all over for you."

_Oh crap. _Sure enough, she saw Steve's smiling face peering over her, his face gleaming with a thin film of sweat and the lights and his hair hanging over as a frame. Was this what those leading ladies in those romances saw when they swooned and fell into their hero's waiting arms?

She gulped. "Oh. Hi, Steve. How are you today?"

_"How are you today?" Really? Way to kick things off. Could've said a lot worse though, I guess… _

"I've been wondering where you were at," he said as he helped her get back upright before resuming his dancing in place. "I figured that the place would be packed, but I never counted on having people pouring in through the windows. For someone who's just making her debut here, Misa seems to have gotten pretty popular in her neighborhood."

"Well, she did invite everyone from the filming crew. Who can say no to a good party? You found the place okay, right?"

"Oh yeah. Whoever came up with Google Map™ should get a Nobel Prize. So you've been helping Misa play hostess, huh?"

"Y-yeah, something like that. But I'm here now, and you're here now, and the music's on now, so if you don't mind me asking, how are you at cutting a rug? Well, technically we're on grass at the moment—"

"Did you honestly have to ask? By the way, you look awesome tonight." Erin couldn't believe how easily the compliment flew from his lips. He'd called her awesome. He'd been looking for her. She felt like passing out right there, but that wouldn't have looked good on her. Ironically the dizzying effect of the endorphins made that impossible, besides.

"Er, thank you! You don't look too shabby yourself."

_Stop stammering, it makes you sound stupid. _

Contrary to what she'd seen from a distance, Stephen wasn't exactly a professional at cutting a rug like Misa was. But there was a smooth, fluid confidence in his moves regardless that could have fooled her, like he was dancing for the enjoyment thereof and not to wow anyone in particular. She had taken his attention from the other ladies so she might as well make the most of it.

She didn't know whether to thank Misa the next time she saw her. She had disappeared elsewhere by then, and at the moment Erin was concentrating on trying not to stare too much into his face while at the same time maintaining enough eye contact with him so he wouldn't suspect that she was getting too shy to look directly at him.

"You're not much of a dancer, are you?" he asked her.

"Huh? Wh-what would make you think that?"

"Your steps are too stilted. You need to relax. It's a party. You've gotta let the beat guide you, don't fight it."

Oh. Guess she wasn't doing as good of a job at cutting loose as she'd thought.

As if in time to the lyrics pouring out of the speakers, he held out his hands to her. "Here, I can show you if you want."

"R…really? Uh…okay," she half-giggled despite herself. Normally she would've slapped herself for that (at least in her mind) but somehow that stopped mattering so much as soon as their hands cuffed together. Time and space seemed to blur for the next few dance numbers, and in spite of the summer sweat, she felt refreshingly cool with every twist and turn like she were standing in front of a fan cranked at medium.

She had to admit, she couldn't remember feeling this relaxed around L. Things were always more intense when he was around her, despite being one of the most stoic characters she'd ever met, to the point where she'd often wonder if he even _had _real feelings and sometimes this worried her. Not a minute went by when she wasn't feeling something: annoyance, anger, fear, pity, care, hatred at worst. A full freaking spectrum of emotions, though to be fair Erin was emotional by nature. Even in those few moments when they horsed around (at least as much as L was capable of horsing around), in the back of her mind it still felt like she had a point she needed to prove to him. A point on how to live, how to be human again, something he seemed to have given up on long ago.

And maybe the feeling was mutual? Maybe he was just that sort of guy who evoked that sort of reaction from everyone, especially kindred spirits like Light?

…

Why was she even making a comparison? There was no reason for it. L was L, Steve was Steve, she had met them under completely different circumstances.

Suddenly the music changed, and a familiar accented chirp echoed across the busy yard: "Okay, everybody grab a special someone 'cause this next one is for couples only, if ya know what I mean!"

_What? _Misa was dropping this on her now? A _slow _dance? Oh God, was she even ready to take such a step with Steve? Maybe he wouldn't want to—

Who was she kidding? Steve liked being in on the action. "Oh, a change of pace. Shall we?"

"O…kay." Really, what else could she say? "No" had slipped her mind by that point.

"What are ya, James Bond™ or something?"

"I admit, sometimes I like to imagine myself as James Bond, except Italian and Jewish rather than Scottish. I mean, who wouldn't like to be him? Say what you will, but Sean Connery™ is the best version of Bond that has ever graced cinema. Here, you can put your hands on my shoulders like this…"

Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God—

What was she just thinking about being relaxed for again?

As soon as enough people on the dance floor appeared paired up, Misa gave the DJ the green light, and sure enough a slow, soft romantic piano piece wafted out of the speakers. One of Misa's newer songs, in fact. Apparently Misa also wanted the satisfaction of having been the artist that sang the song for their first slow dance, on top of everything else.

Misa could be a good matchmaker when she set her mind to it. All she had to do was set up the backdrop, then sit back and let the magic happen naturally.

But Erin couldn't be bothered with the music or any of Misa's trickery. Her pulse roaring in her ears had reduced the music to background noise at best. It was starting to register to her how close Steve was, her clammy hands clutching his shoulders and his cradling her waist. She had the strange compulsion to rest her head on his chest then, if only to keep from staring too much into his eyes. But would that be pushing it? She was trapped.

Steve leaned in and whispered, "_Psst. _It's okay to move. We're still dancing." His breath was warm against the shell of her ear.

What? Oh right. She must've frozen up again. Damn it!

She snuck a glimpse down at their feet and willed her feet to move. They did, though not exactly in the right direction. The tingles creeping up her spine made them harder to control.

_"Ow!" _

Nuts. Fuck. Fucknuts. "Oh God, I'm sorry, Steve! I didn't mean to do that."

"Hey, no big—_ow! _Ow-ow-ouch! _Ah, _my shin!"

"I-I swear I'm not doing it on purpose, I was born with my feet turning the wrong ways—"

"Okay, here, maybe we should put some distance between us…"

Erin didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed by this proposal, but she agreed. This time they held each other out more at arm's length, though their hands stayed in place. Erin waddled along in step with him, her legs spread further apart like she had a rash between them.

Perhaps she _was _getting a rash? All this heat and stress was chafing her thighs, another reason she preferred pants to skirts. Not that pants prevented chafing, but skirts and pantyhose somehow made it worse.

So this was turning out a bit more awkwardly than she would've liked, and yet a part of her still didn't want it to end. Misa must've somehow picked up those vibes, because the next three or four songs were more slow-dance numbers.

All the same, she tried to smooth things over with some quiet small-talk of her own. "So, does that mean you like vodka martinis, too? Shaken, not stirred?"

"In moderation, yeah, particularly when I'm feeling adventurous. A good martini is hard to make, but the payoff makes it _so _worth it."

Erin bit her lip. Would Steve still like her if she didn't drink and he did? She couldn't see why not, though it did limit their conversation on the topic quite a bit. "Well, I hope you brought your own martini-making kit-thing, because Kimiko was pretty adamant about everyone bringing their own booze. Come to think of it, I think she kicked out somebody who tried to bring vodka into the house earlier."

Insert facepalm here.

"Nah, I didn't feel the need. I'm the designated driver tonight, and besides I'm good with plain soda or punch. As I said, in moderation. Vodka martinis aren't something to make a habit of, unless you're James Bond." As they made a turn, Erin glimpsed back at the punch bowl guarded by the narrowed, watchful eyes of one of Misa's cross-armed bodyguards. Gee, Misa sure knew how to pick the most intimidating bouncers.

"Say, if you're feeling more comfortable, we can dance a little closer if you want."

"Uhm, okay."

A small gap was still left between them, but at least this time Erin didn't tenderize Steve's feet, mostly because she slid her feet across the ground rather than lifted them. The less she lifted her feet, the less likely they would land on his, right?

But like all things, good or bad, it eventually came to an end and the rave music erased from the air whatever romantic feelings that had been mustered. But the hormones still raged through her system when Stephen asked her if he could get drinks for the both of them.

"Sure, thank you! I'll meet you by the back door; I need to use the bathroom."

"Take your time," he acknowledged with an easy smile, brushing some of his hair out of his eyes.

Erin rushed back towards the house before he could see her blush any harder than she had already. Speaking of, she really did have to use the bathroom to fix her makeup. Sweat was melting it away. It wouldn't be good to meet back with him looking like Heath Ledger's™ version of the Joker™.

Since she hadn't put that much on to begin with, reapplying her rouge was easy enough. She ran her fingers through her moistened hair in an attempt to comb out any snarls and to let some air onto the nape of her neck. The dancing hadn't been a total disaster, but now what? Were they going to just sit down with their drinks and talk? That shouldn't be a big deal.

She stopped for a second to wonder whether Steve shared her attraction. The way he'd been acting on the dance floor made her wonder, although he could've been that way with every woman.

No. Steve wasn't the type to lead women on.

Was he? She never got those vibes from him before. He did act like a bit of a ladies' man, but not a full-fledged womanizer...

Erin was so preoccupied with her thoughts when she finally stepped out of the bathroom that it almost didn't register to her that someone else was stepping out of another room at about the same time.

But that detail caught her eye in the nick of time, mostly because the door that this person was stepping out of happened to be across from her. And it led into Misa's room.

_What the—?_

"Whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa! Hold it right there! What the hell d'ya think you're doing?"

The other person was just on her way of closing the door behind her when she froze at Erin's demand. When Erin blinked again, a flash of recognition surged through her.

She couldn't believe it.

"H-Halle? Y-you're Steve's friend, aren't you?" she sputtered.

Halle kept an impressive poker face the entire time, but Erin thought she could've seen the word _Crap _flash in her sharp eyes for the shortest of moments. "Yes. I'm with Steve," she answered coolly.

"What the hell were you doing in Misa's room, how'd you get in there?" Erin distinctively remembered seeing Misa lock her room in anticipation for tonight. Erin had done the same for her room and Lawliet's to keep him safe from the chaos.

"I'm sorry, I was just looking for a bathroom and you were already occupying this one—"

"Bull-horse-dog-cat-pigeon shit soufflé! I just saw you walk out of there and Misa had locked her room before this party started. Did you take anything out of there?"

"No, I haven't. As you can see, my hands are empty and I have no pockets or purse with me."

"So what? Y-you could've been—"

…

Oh Lord. Whatever Halle had been doing, did Steve have anything to do with this? Had he been distracting her while Halle snooped through the house to look for valuables to nab?

Or had she been looking for something else…?

The hallway suddenly turned into a shock and fury-induced haze in her eyes, but her voice lowered considerably, mostly without her notice. "You're coming with me downstairs."

Halle probably could have fought her off, but the half-buzzed couple that had been making out against the wall had fixed their glassy, dumbfounded stares on them. It would only worsen the situation to make a scene, so she complied and let Erin take her by the hand.

Before they made their way down the stairs, Erin relocked Misa's door and shot a glare towards the lovebirds, one of them being Misa's costar, she noted. The guy sure got around, didn't he?

"Please, get a room," she snarled. "And by that I mean get your designated drivers and go home, not one of these rooms."

Halle did her best to keep calm, as did Erin, though she could feel her temper slipping out of her grasp the more she thought about Steve with every stormy step she took. How could he? How could he pull the wool over her eyes like this? How could she fall for it? How big of a rube was she?

Sure enough she found Steve waiting patiently for her with two more Solo cups in his hands, though his smile fell away when he noticed that she had brought Halle along with her and she hadn't returned the gesture with a smile of her own. "Erin, what's going on?"

Too angry to think about it, the first thing she did was slap him, right across his handsome face. Her blow left a bright red mark against his cheek and the drinks sizzling in puddles on the ground.

"What's going on? You're asking _me _what's going on? So you think you're a real charmer, huh?" Her hand throbbed with fury and the impact made against his cheekbone. "I caught your 'partner' Halle here sneaking out of Misa's room, that's what's going on! What the fuck, man? What'cha trying to pull? Are you trying to rob her blind or what?"

The roar of the music drowned out her words for most of the crowd, though a few nearby bystanders did stop to stare and whisper amongst themselves, confusing this scene as a typical love triangle about to erupt into violence. Halle noticed this and decided that whatever was about to happen, they'd best take this somewhere private. Steve was too stunned by Erin's slap to respond immediately—though he had a look on that suggested that he was starting to realize that he had dug himself and Halle into a hole—so she jumped in with her suggestion:

"Look, I think we'd better take this somewhere else. We're starting to draw a crowd."

As much as a part of her thought that these perpetrators should be publically brought to justice, at the same time she didn't want to get Misa and Kimiko involved and ruin the entire party for them. But to make sure that they knew she wasn't through with them, she grabbed both their hands in each of her own and dragged them around the side of the house, towards the street where the cars were lined up.

From behind her, Halle shot Steve a look that said, _I told you this was a bad idea. _

Steve replied with a look that said, _If you thought it was such a bad idea, why did you go along with it, then? _

Once they were a safe distance away (read: out by the curb), Erin let go of them and hissed, "Awright, Mr. Bond, spill it. Why did you guys really come here?"

Steve put his hands up in yielding. "Look, I know this looks bad, but I promise we didn't come here to steal anything."

"Then what was Halle doing in Misa's room, for the twelfth time? I'll have you know that Misa's got cameras all over the freaking place and you're not gonna be able to talk your way out of it in court when the jury sees you stuffing your shirts with Misa's stuff."

As off-color and off-putting as this sounded, he really didn't want to have to pat her down to prove her "innocence," relatively speaking. "Halle didn't take anything! Look at her, nothing would have fit if she—"

"Stop."

Halle put up a hand of her own. "Stephen, maybe we should just go ahead and tell her the truth?"

"The truth? What does that mean?" Erin asked, by now getting as red as a radish.

Steve looked at his partner with question, and when she offered no other alternative Steve sighed, still rubbing at his cheek where Erin had struck him. With his other hand, he reached into his pocket to fish something out.

A badge.

Erin almost fainted right there. Sweet baby Jesus in a manger, she was right. Steve _was _a cop. Up until now, she had been pondering over how to approach him about it, but now it looked like the solution had presented itself to her. Should she be happy?

The name displayed on the badge said "Stephen Gevanni." His real name, or an alias? "We're with a special provision from the CIA investigating a crime wave and we came here to look for—"

"Evidence? A crime wave? What crime wave and why Misa?"

"Obviously because we think she has some kind of connection to it and we don't want her—"

"But Misa hasn't done anything. She _wouldn't! _She hates anything having to do with crime. Besides, she wouldn't give me free range of her place if she had something to hide…what's the crime you're looking into, anyway?"

"Homicide."

…

"How many?" Knowing and not liking at all where this was going, Erin felt her voice start to shrivel and crack.

"Several," said Halle. "Quite a few, actually. It's supposed to be confidential. Or it _was._"

Erin clapped a hand over her mouth, feeling her chest tighten with every passing second until she almost couldn't breathe. Was this what someone with asthma felt like when they had an attack?

Funny how abruptly and deeply life could twist and swerve. One minute you're enjoying an awkward-slow dance with an old friend/ new crush. The next you find out that he's an agent investigating one of your other old friends for a crime that you yourself had been trying to look into with your limited resources. The inside of her skull swelled and pulsated with pressure, like a balloon filled with too much air and three seconds away from exploding.

"Y—you think Misa's carrying out all those criminal deaths that have been popping up on the news lately, don't you? Or whoever sent you thinks so? Why, because she's—"

_Because she's done it before? _

"Whoa, slow down, Erin. How would you assume all of this already?"

In a sputter of impulse, she shot back, "No way! I'm not telling you anything else until _you_ tell _me _where you're coming from! Who sent you? What do they want?"

After a tense moment of silence, Halle blew some hair out of her eyes. They hadn't expected, nor wanted something like this to happen, but the hole was too deep to climb out of now. From the sound of it, Erin Blogger might know more about Misa's past than they had first suspected.

Only one way to address this…

"Then I'm afraid, Erin, you're going to have to come with us this time. Gevanni, get a blindfold for her," Halle ordered as she unlocked the car and slid into the passenger's side. "I need to call Rester…"

…

Sweet Jesus, it was happening all over again. Déjà fucking vu. What had she stumbled into this time? She'd had no choice but to comply with their demands, blindfold and all. It seemed like the only way to finally get some of the answers she had been craving for these past few days.

What if these two were working with the L imposter? How did they know that these deaths were murders? How would they know that Misa had once been a killer herself? They had no reason to suspect her now.

Stephen had taken the seat next to her in the back, presumably to make sure that she didn't remove the blindfold, and _perhaps _to give her comfort when he saw her curled over herself.

She felt a hand brush against her shoulder. No longer feeling in the mood, she shook him off. "Don't touch me," she growled, not unlike Lawliet whenever he thought Erin was getting too touchy-feely with him.

Lawliet. Oh no. In all her haste she had left him locked up in that room, and come to think of it she hadn't even bothered to stop to tell the Amanes that she was leaving, had she? Well they couldn't exactly turn back now and even if she had her phone with her she doubted she would've been allowed to use it.

_I…I don't know what's going to happen, but I think I could come up with a believable story, next time I see them. I just hope they won't wait up on me, 'cause there's no telling how long this will take. _

_…_

_But, what if they _don't _let me come back? _

_Oh Erin. You never think these things over as thoroughly as you should. I thought you would've learned by now. Now you're in deep shit. Deep Shit, Arkansas, just ten miles south of Gonersville…_

_I cleaned his box and filled his food and water dishes before the party. __I hope Lawliet will be okay. _Maybe he'll sleep through the whole thing and won't even notice I was gone. 

"Look, Erin. I'm sorry—"

"Sorry? _Feh. _I don't wanna hear it. I don't even know what to say to you, right now. Except that you really are a jerk, Steve," she grumbled, turning her head towards where she thought was the window, despite the fact that she couldn't see anything. She concentrated on trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. She didn't want him to know how scared she was starting to get the further this all sank in. "James Bond, my ass. And to think that I wore a skirt, I did my hair…I even put on makeup for your sake, you bastard!"

…

Why on earth she said that right then and there would always be a mystery to her. Maybe it was the blindfold; it had temporarily lowered her previous inhibitions toward Steve.

Halle made the wise choice to say out of it and keep her comments to herself, instead keeping her eyes and mind trained on the dark road. Steve was just as quiet, though more out of a lack of a response to that. Erin didn't know whether or not to feel proud at having left him speechless.

To say that the rest of the ride was the most awkward part of the night thus far would be a gross understatement. Indeed, since it could only get worse from there.

After what felt like an eternity they finally came to a stop. "Hey, how long do I have to keep the blindfold on, anyway?"

"At least until we get up to the room," said Halle, figuring that she should be the one to lead the way for her. Sure, Erin wasn't happy with her either, but from the looks of it she was even less happy with Gevanni.

This was why she stayed away from relationships. They complicated things, often needlessly.

The golden lights pouring down from overhead (albeit dulled through the blindfold) and the echoes of their steps across linoleum made Erin think that they must've stepped into one of those five-star hotels. Of course. Only the best for hot-shot detectives and secret agents.

She wondered which hotel they'd taken her to. There were quite a few in this neighborhood. The Chateau™, maybe? She could hear every beat of her heart echo through the lobby with every hesitant step. Didn't they blindfold convicts before they executed them via fire squad or something? The theory was that it wouldn't be as painful if the victim couldn't see it happening.

Erin wondered how much that was true, or whether the opposite was true, instead. Why was she even thinking this, anyway? They wouldn't _kill _her. She didn't know what they had in store, but surely killing her was off the table from the start?

_I can't be so sure. If they're working with the L-imposter, he may not have the same scruples that L had…however few and far between those were. _

The elevator chimed, indicating that they had reached their floor. No matter what would happen, Erin would put on her bravest face. She had to admit she had often thought about giving this fraud a piece of her mind since he'd made himself known. She didn't know what exactly she would say to him, but it would be cutting, for sure. Any imposter, never mind this one, deserved nothing less.

The rest of the team had been waiting with bated breath by the time they stepped inside the suite. Erin couldn't see them, but she could hear them mutter amongst themselves, their whispers drained by stress and exasperation and anxiety over how this little monkey wrench was going to compromise their investigation.

"Uh…hello, everyone," she squeaked out, stricken by the urge to speak up but suddenly finding herself at another loss for words. "How's it going?"

"Hm. L, the girl is here. She's blindfolded."

_"Yes. I heard her." _

Mother of God. That synthesized voice…it sounded just like him. But it wasn't him and because of that she could finally feel tears stinging the edges of her eyes. Where was that voice coming from? A computer, most likely, but from where? Was he in the suite with them or someplace else entirely?

"Who said that?"

A man cleared his throat. "We apologize for putting you through this, Ms. Blogger, but after this recent breach we didn't have much of a choice but to bring you in. Here, have a seat."

"When can I take off the blindfold? It's not like you guys would let me go anytime soon," said Erin as she felt another person guide her into what felt like a sofa. Boy, was the room stuffy. Didn't the thermostat work or—

"It's kinda hot in here," she remarked, pulling at her collar. "What's wrong with the thermostat?"

_"It's fine where it is. Now Ms. Blogger, Lidner explained to us that in addition to your catching on to her and Gevanni while they were investigating Amane's home, you let it slip that you might know some valuable information yourself. If you don't mind answering a few questions—" _

"Why the hell should I?" she snapped, slamming her fist into the cushions and letting her feelings spill out unfiltered. "You're the one who did that broadcast, didn't you? You said that you wouldn't help the police. You denied that there was even a killer on the loose. So what would be the point? And anyway, who are you and why do these guys call you L?"

_"Obviously because I am L." _

"No, you're not! You're not L; you're an imposter, a fake, a goddamn sham! And I won't answer anything until you admit it, you…you little synthetic cocktail weenie slathered in hot pigeon turd! You sucker of big fat brown dirty eggs! You pimple-popping pus-licking punk!"

Okay, so far her insults were coming out more childishly than she would've liked. Perhaps because she was still nervous (to put it mildly) in spite of her blindness. She hated that this new guy could have that sort of power over her already.

The room became deathly silent as the agents tried to process her words. She thought she heard Steve bite back a bewildered laugh, only to gasp when someone, probably Halle, jabbed a silencing elbow into his ribcage. As he deserved. Normally she thought that laugh was adorable, but right now? Not so much.

…

_"Interesting choice of words. You call me an imposter. May I ask why you would make such an accusation?" _

Jesus, this guy even had L's nerves of steel. Didn't he hear any of that other stuff she'd called him? Erin froze for a bit, realizing she was about to reveal something she had left unspoken for the longest time and up until this point had figured she would never share with anyone. This was it. She wished that circumstances could've been a bit different—Aizawa for instance was bound to throttle her for breaking her promise once this got back to him—but it was what it was.

_Forgive me, guys…_

She took as deep of a breath as she could manage. There was no better way to say this than to get straight to the point.

"Because…I met the real L when I was in Japan. He died trying to stop Kira, Light Yagami. They both died. I…I saw everything. Everyone on the task force saw it happen. I don't know how you managed to pass yourself off as him, but I can confidently bet my next paycheck that you're not L. So stop stringing these good people along and wasting their time and tell them the truth. Hell, you could be the new guy killing all of those people, for all I know. That's probably why you made that stupid broadcast."

God, this scene looked and sounded way too familiar to her…the only difference was that she was blinded for the whole thing. The blindfold really had lowered her inhibitions.

She couldn't help the few tears that managed to leak out of her eyes, but the blindfold soaked them up. She'd deal with the smudged mascara later. "Where are you, right now? I wanna see you. I wanna see your face. I won't say any more until I can see you."

Now the room was in a definite buzz. They couldn't verify that she was right about L's identity, but everything else, L had told them about beforehand. How could this girl know about all of this unless she was telling the truth about being there on the Kira case four years ago?

And if so, why hadn't L mentioned her at all? He had mentioned those from the Japanese NPA who had worked on the Kira Task Force, but not a word about her…surely he would have? This was sensitive information getting tossed around, here.

"L" was quiet for a moment. As much as Erin wanted to think that she had left him speechless and milk from it all the satisfaction it was worth, he could have just as likely—if not more likely—been thinking about what to do with her. In one fell swoop, she had probably damaged, if not totally destroyed, whatever trust these people had built up with him.

Should she be glad of that? But then, what was so trustworthy anyway about a guy who didn't show his face even to those he worked directly with?

Finally, "L" gave his response.

_"Very well. Watari, take Ms. Blogger to my room and accompany her inside. Everyone else must stay back, however. I will turn off my connection so no one else may hear us." _

What the fuck, man? He still wasn't going to show his face? Well, not to anyone else, anyway.

_Watari…_

"Who're ya talking about this time?" she demanded. "The Watari I know died, too! Who's there? Are you the Watari he's referring to?"

"I am," answered a deep British voice (not Watari's voice, this one was a bit deeper and sounded much more morose). "Please calm down, miss. When we get into the next room, if L permits it, you will be allowed to take off the blindfold."

Of course. Everything had to be on L's terms.

The old man in question made sure to avert the prying gazes of the task force so they couldn't see how uneasy he had become about this new development. If she knew about the first Watari's death, then there could be no mistaking the truth behind her claims.

What he couldn't understand was why L had omitted her from his report. He had to have done that on purpose, but for what reason? From what they had looked up on her prior to her arrival, Erin Blogger was a journalist who currently worked for the L.A. Sun, the last kind of person they would normally trust with these sorts of secrets.

Though to the best of his knowledge, no official stories had been published about L's or Kira's death over these past few years, so this was likely the first time she had disclosed her involvement on the case to anyone. Besides, she was unlikely to have the Shinigami Eyes or anything of that sort. Someone looking to kill L with the Death Note wouldn't be this upfront about wanting to see him.

That said, if L was truly going to let her see his face…

As he guided her towards the door, Erin's heart pounded so hard and painfully against her chest it felt ready to burst from out of her chest cavity and splatter against the wall like a flung spoonful of gelatin. While she didn't quite understand why he was conceding to her demands to see him so easily but not to let his co-workers see him, she was finally going to confront this imposter. A rush of adrenaline bred of anger, fear and arguably foolhardy courage coursed through her and knocked her off-kilter for a bit. She couldn't dwell on her anger towards Steve now. Misa's fate, the task force's fate, the whole world's fate, her fate hung in the balance.

By the time she realized the implications behind this thought, she heard the swipe of a card undoing a lock, a restrained sigh from "Watari" (_He's definitely not Watari; if he ever got tired or exasperated he wouldn't show it_), and then the click of the door and her chance to turn back closing behind her.


	6. Inconvenience

_**Disclaimer! **_**All fictional entities featured/ mentioned in this segment belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata; except Erin Blogger and a few extra characters not from the canon cast, who I made up for the purpose of this fan fiction. Any other unfamiliar names may be either other original characters or allusions to real-life people. "She's Got a Way" is a song from 1982 by artist Billy Joel. **

_**6. Inconvenience**_

"Ms. Blogger was examined before coming in; no weapons or cameras were found on her person."

"All right, Watari. You may remove her blindfold," was the dull reply after too long of a pause.

L hadn't exactly been what one would call attractive himself—at least not physically, and sometimes not even personality-wise—but for some reason Erin imagined this guy to be even less wholesome in the looks department. She imagined him to look something along the lines of Tommy Wiseau™; he sounded pompous and narcissistic enough, but he lacked the unidentifiable accent. He sounded like the cross-eyed block-headed type that would write, produce, direct and star in his own film, which would come out as a huge steaming pile of nonsensical pigeon diarrhea.

When "Watari" finally slipped the blindfold off of her eyes, she did not expect to find a small white pajama-clad mass curled over on the floor in the middle of a maze constructed entirely of Legos™ that stretched up to her knee in height. But that's exactly what she got.

She blinked several times to adjust to the light, or lack thereof. The shades had been drawn over the only window in the room and two lamps on either side illuminated the mostly vacant space.

_No way. _

His back was to the two. She couldn't see too much of him proper, but what she _could_ see suggested that—

_He…he's just a little _kid?

Well, she was right about one thing. This definitely wasn't L.

"What's the matter? You were ranting and raving up a storm just a moment ago."

But for someone who wasn't L, he sure acted and sounded a lot like him. His voice was also soft and flat and monotone, if smaller in proportion to his size, and kind of girlish. Like a bite-sized version of L. What was she supposed to make of that?

"I…is that you, behind all the Legos?"

"Yes. Obviously, since you, Watari and myself are the only ones in this room at the moment. You may come into the circle if you want, but do be careful not to trip yourself up." He didn't rise up or turn an inch. He just sat there like a lump of cold oatmeal. It looked like she'd have to walk through the maze if she wanted to see his face.

She glanced back at the old man who answered as Watari. He was about Watari's height and he wore a dark grey suit and glasses, but he was much leaner than the Watari she knew. This new guy had curly white hair with a very receded hairline—he was almost completely bald at the top except for a cowlick of hair—and bushier eyebrows. Whereas Watari's face made her think of a mastiff, this man's face was more angular and bird-like, with a large pointed nose and no facial hair. Watari's eyes were blue and squinted, but this man's were wide—if at the moment narrowed at her—and cobblestone grey. His ears were about as big as Watari's, but they stuck out more.

And unlike Watari, he looked rather uneasy. He looked at her like she was a massive inconvenience. And perhaps she was, but that wasn't entirely her fault.

Erin bit down on her bottom lip. She had no idea what to say to this man who called himself Watari. Or rather, she did—a thousand questions buzzed ruthlessly through her head like raging wasps—but she didn't know where or how to begin.

Maybe she should speak to the other guy, first? From the sound of it, he was the leader in this partnership, _God though, he looks so young…_

After looking him over to see if he had any dart guns or other sort of weapon to incapacitate her or worse, which she found none, she slowly backed away from the old man. Any weapons he had could easily been concealed, like in his socks or sleeves or wherever people liked to hide their weapons in case of a pinch, so it'd be best not to make _too _sudden moves. They'd patted her down for weapons and bugs before they'd brought her in here, but that didn't guarantee that they wouldn't turn her into Swiss cheese if they thought it necessary.

She held up her hands and began the winding path through the Legos, one foot after another, but her pulse was howling. All this excitement had made her so light in the head that not tripping up became more of a task than it should have, especially in what little walking space she had.

Until she thought, _What am I doing? I can just step over the Legos instead of walking around them. Duh! _

If "L" had had any objection to her bounding over the plastic building blocks, he didn't mention it. While she did get dangerously close to losing her footing once or twice, it sure made the way over to the boy quicker. Soon she found herself standing in a circle that barely managed to accommodate the two of them space-wise, and she squatted down for a closer look. His face was still hidden, but this time she could make out a thick unruly mop of hair, as pale and fluffy as torn cotton balls. His stark white pajamas looked way too big for him; his feet were garbed in white socks and his ghostly fingers barely peeked out of his sleeves.

"What are you doing here? J-just how old _are _you? Eight? Ten? Twelve?"

He still didn't look up at her but he held up seven fingers, his sleeves sliding a bit down his arms as he did so. "If you absolutely must know, I'm seven."

If Erin didn't know better, she would've said that he had paused on purpose just to see if she would have an aneurysm over this news, which she must admit she got pretty damn close. Until he put up all ten fingers and added blankly:

"Teen. I'm seventeen. Or I'll officially be by the end of the month."

Seventeen? Jesus Christ, he was even younger than L when she'd met him. Granted, she never found out exactly how old L had been, but he'd had to be in his early to mid-20s, at least.

"Well, Happy Birthday to you. I'll be sure to get you a card. But seriously. What are you doing here?"

"You're a bit slow, aren't you? I'm here because I am L. Or at least, the current one."

Current? What was that supposed to mean? L never said anything about being part of a line of detectives that all went by the title of "L." Then again, should she have expected him to?

"I will concede this much: I am not the L that you supposedly are familiar with. However, this doesn't necessarily make me an imposter. It would be more accurate to call me…L's successor."

Erin almost crashed down on her rear. _Successor? I'm looking at L, version 2.0 or something? _

"I'm not one who is unsure of many things, but it's rather puzzling that the previous L never once made mention of you in his report, a civilian who got involved in something you shouldn't have. How careless of him on both fronts. I expected better," he snorted.

Huh? So these two didn't know about her, either? At least until now.

_Did he do that to protect me? Did he trust me enough not to tell anyone about him or the Kira case that he kept me out of his files? Well, in all fairness, I couldn't have told anyone even if I wanted to. I didn't have proof and it would've done nothing but get me and everyone involved in trouble. But even then…_

A warm wave of sadness, gratitude and love for him swelled through her at the thought and made her ache all over and when it ebbed, a dull helpless anger lay in its wake. "If it makes you feel better, I've never told anyone about what happened on that case until tonight."

"I suppose we should be grateful for that much. While it does save us a lot of trouble, this does not mean that we completely trust you."

"Is that why you're still hiding your face? Come on, lift your head up. You heard the old man; I don't have anything on me. And I said that I won't talk until I could see your face."

Slowly the boy—if one could call him as such—did just that. But Erin didn't find his real face underneath that hair. Instead she was met with yet another plastic barrier. A mask.

An L-mask. This mask looked like L's face, or at least an eerie caricature of such. Yes, even eerier and more alien-like than how L had actually looked. The wild hair fell down in a frame like thick black wads of squeezed Play-Doh™, the lips were bigger and more pouty, the face paler and shinier, and the brow-less, unblinking eyes even huger and bulgier. They looked like fish-eyes, with the pupils dead still, big and black as two lumps of coal. The shadows painted underneath them were much more pronounced.

Erin didn't know whether to pee herself with fright or start crying. No. She would not give this little punk that satisfaction, even if he was telling the truth. She wanted to rip that mask off herself, but if she did that the old man might have shot her. She'd have to exercise some restraint, here.

Still, if this kid could make a mask to look like L, then they must have known each other, or at least had met each other at some point. How well they knew each other, Erin couldn't yet determine.

"Take off that mask," she growled. "I stand by what I said out there. No matter what you say or do, you will never be L to me. So you'd better get over that."

The boy cocked his head. His already soft words were muffled behind those frozen lips. "Not to you perhaps, but I am to the rest of the world. To be frank, I think that's far more significant than your singular opinion of me. Unfortunately now that you've shown up and dropped all of those accusations in front of my task force, it doesn't appear that I have a choice except to clear the air when we are finished here."

_So you should, _thought Erin bitterly. _It serves you right. _

"You say that like that's a bad thing. Can't even trust the guys you asked to work under you or what? The L I knew would put his guys through hell and back before he trusted them enough to work for him."

"And you think I haven't done that? It seems to have slipped your mind that we are dealing with a killer or group of killers who need a victim's name and face to kill him or her using supernatural notebooks."

She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was something different about this new "L" as well as similar besides being smaller. He seemed…darker, colder, angrier than his predecessor if that was possible, even though she had been the one raising her voice this entire time. She'd thought that L had been the kind of guy one could easily mistake for a monster that crawled up from a basement somewhere, but this small fry…

"But these people won't be able to help you if they don't know the entire story. And neither would I."

"Excuse me? How would you be able to help? Most of what we know about the notebook, the first L has already passed on that information."

"Yeah, but you sent Stephen and Halle out to Misa's house because you think she's suspicious, right?"

"I must admit I'm not pleased with those two, at the moment. They should have just gone ahead and admitted to trying to burglarize Amane's residence. The police might have been called and they might have gone to jail, but they would have easily been bailed out and we wouldn't be having this conversation. I guess Gevanni cared more about trying to get into your pants than he did about staying confidential. Can't have his next conquest thinking that he's a common criminal now, can he?"

Erin just about choked on her own spit at that last part. Her face went ablaze with a fever sprung from embarrassment, fear and fury. Who would have thought that he would put _that _so bluntly? Never mind that; was that what Steve had thought of her this whole time? Just another conquest? She had already been pretty pissed off with him before she'd heard this, but now? What if this kid was just saying that to be an asshole? After all, she'd only just met him. Why should she trust this cheeky little bastard's word over her own gut?

"On the other hand…if they hadn't screwed up, we might not have found out about your involvement in the first Kira case or that you knew the first L. Also, their being arrested and having criminal records would have complicated our attempts to get closer to Amane in the future. So I _suppose_ we could call this situation a double-edged sword of sorts."

She came back with a sputter, "In any case, I want to prove to you that you're wrong. Misa's innocent. She's changed, and for the better too. She wouldn't let me run around her place, never mind throw a huge house party and invite everyone and their dog if she had something to hide. Now quit your pussy-footin' around and take off that mask."

The boy reached up to twirl a lock of his pale hair around his finger. "You sound fairly confident about Amane's innocence. Or maybe you're only offering to get involved for the sake of your _own_ peace of mind? She's lied to you and let you down before, hasn't she? How can you be sure that she wouldn't do it again? In fact, how do you know that she hasn't been using you from the moment you two met each other?"

There was something rather smug about his tone when he added, "You don't seem that hard to manipulate to begin with, now that I've had a look at you. Hear a good sob story, see a few well-placed crocodile tears, and out goes your resolve. You're like a stuffed animal my granny would make." For visual aid, he pulled out from under him a worn button-eyed patchwork teddy bear with a little hat on its head folded out of newspaper clippings. Holding the bear out by its paws, he wiggled it in front of him as though to make it dance. He even stopped to flap the bear's paws in her face.

What on earth was she supposed to make of this? By this time her legs had fallen asleep under her and her knees could bear the strain no more, and she plopped down on her keister with her legs scrunched against her body. This kid was supposed to be seventeen? He sounded like he was 34 but acted like he was six.

Just like someone else she used to know…

_He's just trying to psych me out. He doesn't know Misa like I do. And I'll prove it too. He can shove it right up his scrawny pompous little—_

"Shut up and take off that mask."

"I heard you the first time," said the boy, letting the bear drop helplessly to the floor. "I'm just not sure if you're ready for the ramifications attached to seeing my face." Well, his surly attitude matched a teenager's, for sure.

"What, am I gonna turn into a pillar of salt or something?"

"As pleasant as it would be if that happened since you would be quieter then, no. You'll simply never be able to leave our sight again. We'll have to keep tabs on you indefinitely, even after this case is solved. The first L may have been careless enough to let you go, but not me." Not even L was this rude.

"Oh, drop it. After everything that's happened up 'til now, you guys wouldn't let me go anyway. I've heard it all before, and I want you to know that…that I don't care. Whatever it takes to prove to you that Misa's innocent. And who knows, maybe I'll change your mind?"

"I doubt that. But all right. If you insist…"

Erin and the old man by the door watched with bated breath as the boy lifted the string of the mask in one hand and pulled the mask proper off of his face. His face was paler and rounder than L's had been, and his huge owl-like eyes, grey as steel, bore into hers. His eyes hadn't quite developed insomnia-induced bags under them, or at least they were very faint. He probably had enough sense to sleep more than L ever had. She couldn't really tell as his bangs fell over his eyes and cast them in shadow.

He stared at her for a minute or so, and then he did something rather unexpected. He smiled at her.

But his smile was nothing like L's; his smile was like the real-life version of the "**c:**" emoticon. Somehow it looked…unsettling, unnatural, devious. A Cheshire cat grin, but without the flashing teeth. A smirk, really.

Jesus, had L been cloned or something before he died? No, maybe not. L hardly said much of anything about his origins, but from what she could tell he had been an intersection of Japanese and several different European lineages. Not this fella. He appeared to have come from an all-white lineage and had no accent at all to his voice. Boy, he was about as white as they came.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're quite annoying?"

She bit back the urge to gulp. "Yeah, I get that a lot. Has anyone ever told _you _that?"

"I've had a few complaints towards my character as well, but they are by and large irrelevant. In any case, we'll have to become accustomed to each other, won't we?"

The old man cleared his throat.

"I'm going to have to ask you to refer to me as L while we are in front of the others, but if you insist on personally not acknowledging me as L, then in private you may address me by my old codename: Near, or N."

"Near, huh? And him?" she asked, jabbing a finger at the old man.

"You could consider him Watari's successor of sorts. As with me, you are to address him by the name the task force knows him as, but his old name is Roger."

She wrapped her arms around her legs, keeping her skirt bunched between them so as to keep hidden what shouldn't be seen. "How did you get into L's position?"

"I went to school," Near answered coolly, switching to another lock of hair on his head when the one he'd been working on was curled enough.

"Is that right?" she snorted. "There's a school where you can get your degree in L-ology and be the next Great Detective?"

"Actually, yes, you could say that. Tell me, have you ever heard of Wammy's House?"

Oh no. He was being serious. Or so it looked. "K-kind of. It's one of those orphanages in England that take in kids and—and teach them stuff. It's supposed to be a school. Quillish Wammy, the original Watari, opened it."

"That's the institution's public description. But it also has a private program, one which selects from a particularly elite group of students the next heir to L's title."

…

"I'm sorry, could you run that by me again? I don't think I heard that right," she said, scooping out her ear with her pinkie.

Roger gave her a look. What? It wasn't like she had any bugs on her. She really couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Very well, let me use smaller words: Wammy's trains certain students to take L's place in case something should happen to him. As his heir, I got his title and everything attached to it: his fortune, his contacts, all of the information he collected from past cases, all of it."

…

_But…you're just a little kid. A really bratty little kid, but still a little kid. A baby, practically. God, you're around Light's age when he—_

"Hold on. You're telling me that this House that you come from raises little kids to be like L?"

"That's correct, but only a few select students are even considered candidates."

"H—how long have you been going around as L?"

"I became the new L when we found out about the first L's death. So in case math isn't one of your few strong points, I have been the current L for roughly four years."

Four years. If Near was telling the truth about his age, then he had to have started when he was—

_Twelve or thirteen. _

Had L been that old when _he _started? Or even younger?

_You should never assume that you "know" people. _

"Get outta here!" she yelped, suddenly finding herself on her feet again. "What you're talking about right now, that's like child abuse!" She didn't know who to be angriest at: L, Watari, or these two—God, Watari, a nice old man like him, how could he be behind something so unspeakably horrible? "I ought to report this to the authorities!"

She imagined an assembly line of little kids getting tossed into a machine of sorts that cranked and clattered and popped out little L's on the end, every sliver of innocence and individuality down to their names stripped from them, their backs curved and their spirits broken.

"Now, hold on, Miss Blogger," Roger finally spoke up as he strode towards the wall of Legos. "The intention of the program is not to abuse anyone. I-it isn't as though the students are forced into it—"

"The fuck, they're not!" As uncouth as it normally was to use such language around the elderly, Erin couldn't help herself. In fact, if he wasn't an old man she'd have lunged at him, by now. "I don't care how smart they are; these are still little kids! They can't make these sorts of decisions for themselves! Th-th-that sounds like something a pedophile would say or something!"

Roger began to look pale with horror. "I-I beg your pardon?" He hastily pushed his glasses back up on his sweating face. He and children may not have gotten on the greatest, but he could _never _do or accept something that low, and certainly neither would have Wammy.

"Ms. Blogger, please lower your voice. I turned off my connection for a reason," grumbled Near, not the type who appreciated having his intelligence, or in this case his capacity for autonomy underestimated just because of his age, especially by someone older and still far inferior to him. "My age at the time couldn't be helped; L had died and someone had to take his place as soon as possible. The other person considered to be L's successor was older than myself, but he walked out as soon as Roger told us the news. That made me the next L by default.

"I can attest to having experienced no abuse of any kind, unless you count being ostracized by my peers, but I was never interested in them anyway, so no love lost there. And to tell the authorities of Wammy's House…would that really be the right thing to do?"

"What the hell d'ya mean, would it be right? You gonna kill me if I do or what?"

"No, Ms. Blogger, we wouldn't kill you. It would be too problematic to even attempt that. But…Wammy's House for all of its flaws has been the closest thing that many children have had to call home. It's safe to assume that I may have been a lot worse off had Wammy's not found me. Not to mention you would be placing everyone who's had any association to it in danger by telling the world that that is where the detective L comes from. Would you honestly want to destroy all that? Think of the children."

She didn't like how he said that last part, like he was mocking her. How much of this did he really mean? The two of them, Near and Roger, could have been lying to her the entire time for all she knew. But how could she know for sure? Still, maybe there was a point somewhere in what he was saying? Maybe.

"Why do we even need a detective like L, anyway?" she asked, more to herself than anything. "No one should have to be put through all that pain and suffering."

"That's like asking why we need the police or doctors or leaders. The job has to be done by someone, no matter how much it sucks to do it. We've invested too much in L's legacy, and the world has grown too dependent on it, for us to simply abandon it now. Besides, I for one cannot see myself doing anything else."

Wow. She didn't expect him to put it that way. But then, she hadn't expected him to talk about Gevanni in the way he had earlier, either. Boy, she would have a hard time facing him again when this was over. Her fists clenched at her sides as tightly as her jaw did. Why was it that L and now Near couldn't give up the title? Because of how they naturally were, or because of how they'd been conditioned?

"And…the other guy who was trained for the title? Wh-what happened to him?"

Near switched to yet another lock of hair to curl. "That brings us to our central problem. He disappeared. We've been looking for him since he left the House. We have reason to believe that…"

He glanced towards a blond Viking action figure standing in front of him dressed in fur and flashing exaggeratingly huge muscles, next to it a Grim reaper figurine in flowing plastic robes. The two toys were locked arm in arm.

"…he's somehow obtained a killer notebook for himself and is currently using it for his own ends."

She realized then that she'd momentarily stopped breathing. So it _was _happening all over again. Ryuk again, or one of his buddies this time? "You think he has a notebook? Wh—why would you think that?"

"I admit that the evidence is rather circumstantial at best. Several months ago a mole was dispatched to try to infiltrate a criminal ring. I was not in charge of that case; if I had been maybe it wouldn't have gone as wrong as it did. He was caught and the bugs on him were promptly destroyed, but…some of the background noises as well as the mole's panicked reactions suggested that there was a shinigami present in the room that the mole had managed to see when he somehow got his hands on the notebook."

Oh God. Erin could only assume that the mole didn't make it out, if these guys were as vicious as Near implied. "And…what makes you think your guy was there, too?"

"In the background it sounded as though one of those thugs was eating a chocolate bar."

"O—kay. Your guy likes chocolate, huh? B-but that could be anyone. Who doesn't like chocolate?" Someone she used to know ate chocolate and other sweets like there was no tomorrow. "Well, besides people who are allergic or on a diet…"

"That may be. As I said before, our evidence is rather flimsy, but it's the best we've gathered so far. Besides, I can't imagine many thugs to be munching on chocolate while they're sending a traitor off to his execution. In case this was your next question, that was why we did that broadcast. We were trying to provoke him, or at the very least draw attention to his activity."

"Well then, if you thought he was with this criminal group, why haven't you caught him already?"

"By the time this had gotten back to me, they had already slipped away again."

Erin put up her hands then. Something—well, many more things still didn't add up in her mind. "Wait a minute. If you think this guy has anything to do with the new criminal slayings, then why are you bothering Misa?"

"As a former serial killer who escaped justice, there isn't anything stopping her from doing it again if given the chance."

Erin was really starting to get fed up with this kid, if she hadn't been already. "But I keep telling you, she's _over _that! After she and Light were caught L burned her notebook, and she lost all her memories about the Death Note and being the Second Kira to Light's Kira. That's why she couldn't be prosecuted. And with people like me and her big sister Kimiko around, there's no way she'd ever fall back into that."

"Maybe. Or at least she would be more careful going about it."

"_Ugggh, _look, if you think your guy would ever try to contact Misa—d-would he even know that she—?"

"He wasn't second to me at Wammy's House for nothing. It's possible that he got his hands on those files for himself. And yes, there is a possibility that he would try to contact and use Amane, provided that he hasn't already…"

"W-well, d'ya got a picture of him or something? Maybe I would know if he's been around her if I knew what he looked like?"

Near snorted again. "I don't think he would make himself _that _obvious, but we do have one picture of him. Keep in mind though that it's outdated and he may have very well changed his appearance since then."

He pulled out a photograph that had been lying face-down under the Viking toy's feet and tossed it up to her like a ninja star. She fumbled with it in her hands for a few seconds before she found a good grip on it and looked it over carefully.

What she saw was heartbreaking. On the surface it looked like just an ordinary snapshot of a thin, fair-skinned boy—around twelve to fourteen, from the looks of him—out in a yard somewhere, presumably Wammy's House. The trees around him had golden leaves, suggesting that it had been taken during the fall. He had on a black shirt, longish blond hair with the bangs cut straight across, and eyes as blue as the crisp bright sky behind him and as cheeky as his smile, if intense for someone his age. He had the eyes of someone who always wanted more and wasn't afraid to do whatever it took to get it.

Then her mind wandered as she thought about this boy in the picture: what he was like then, what he was now, what he could and might have been, whether he could still be saved, whether he'd _want _to be saved. If he was still up and about, then he had to be around Light's age by now, as Near was. And killing just as Light had before him.

She wondered if he understood how similar he had become to Light, the person who had destroyed his mentor, or rather helped him to destroy himself. She didn't know this boy from Adam yet a part of her mourned for him already.

She snapped back into reality and blinked back the tears pushing at her eyes. _God, is Near right? Am I that much of a bleeding heart that I could be played for a fool that easily? _

It wasn't like it hadn't happened before. Light had played her, as had Misa and yes, even L. Then again, she had been on the same boat as Matsuda, Mogi, Aizawa and Mr. Yagami. Was it wrong to care about someone else no matter who they were or what they did? She didn't think so.

_You know what? Fuck him, what would he know? He hasn't known her as long as I have or the way that I do. Misa's my friend and I'll prove her innocence and make him eat crow. I'll help track this guy down and get the notebook and destroy the goddamn thing like it should be. _

_Besides, what could this guy possibly want from her? I don't think Misa would be of any use to him without her memories. _

After a moment of silence she squeaked, "What's his name?"

"You may call him Mello, or M. That's the name he went by at Wammy's, though he could be currently going by a different name."

Mello and Near. Talk about ironic naming. These clearly were aliases besides but she knew better than to expect him to throw around any actual names. She'd roll with at least that much. As for everything else…

"Hm. Well, I've never seen him before, that's for sure. But I'll keep my eyes peeled. Do those people outside know all this? Do they know about this Mello kid?"

"No. I've been trying to avoid telling them that. So far I've assigned them to researching each of the alleged victims or surveillance."

"Aw, what? No man, that's not gonna work. I told you before, we won't get very far if we're not honest with each other. They have to know."

"Honesty can get you killed, Ms. Blogger. Surely you could appreciate that at least a little."

"But the lack of honesty _will_ keep you going in circles." She sat back down again, Indian-style this time.

"You don't say. Then what about your relationship to Amane? She doesn't remember killing anyone…but you do, don't you? You've never told her, have you? Isn't that dishonest? Would you call your relationship with her a perpetual circle?"

"What the—th-that's different! She doesn't need to know that. Your men and Halle need to know about Mello. I can't say I totally trust you either but I'll still cooperate with you, more or less. Come on, what if I shared with you what I know? I don't know how much it might help, but I think it's something. You've shown me your face and all so I'll talk now, like I said I would."

Near grunted to himself. Roger had gone back to standing guard by the door, not looking too pleased with her or her earlier accusations. "You may. But first…I'd like to know how exactly you got entangled in the Kira case to begin with. L left that out in his report."

She stretched the hem of her skirt over her knees, folded her hands in her lap and took a breath or two. "Oh, right. See, around the time the Kira case was in full bloom, I was studying at To-Oh University, as an exchange student, y'know? A writer starving for a story. So one day Misa came to visit the campus…"

…

Geez, what was the hold-up? Whatever was going on in that room sure was taking a long time to get resolved. Now and then the agents would hear shouting, mostly from Erin, but then things would get quiet again. They couldn't hear what exactly was being said as they had done what L had asked and stayed back.

Stephen found himself worried about Erin. He had to admit he'd found it shocking, and at the same time kind of funny, that she or anyone would outright call L a "sucker of big brown dirty eggs" and all those other insults. The kind of stuff that Stephen could only dream about having the freedom to say.

On the other hand, the fact that Erin had actually been in on the Kira case was, to put it mildly, an even greater shocker. Though…it would help to explain why she was so jittery, bursting in fits of emotion before going back and withdrawing again. Even when they had been dancing, it had felt as though she was holding back, staying guarded, no matter how much she'd suggested she liked him otherwise. He hoped that "L," whoever he was, would go easy on her. He would have to do of a _lot_ of explaining when they came out again.

_Him and me both. _

Finally, _finally, _Erin and Watari stepped out. The blindfold was gone from her face this time. The two of them looked so washed out. Her head was down and he could see mascara smudging the outline of her eyes and stretching down to her rouge-stained cheeks. Son of a bitch, had he made her cry? His gut clenched at the thought. There were few things he hated more than assholes for superiors and seeing a woman cry, never mind both together. She glanced his way for about a second but then quickly turned away. Either she didn't want him to see how messy her face had gotten or she was still mad at him for tricking her. Probably both.

Naturally though, L stayed hidden in the room. Watari was locking the door behind him when the computer blinked on. Erin picked an unoccupied armchair on the other side of the room rather than the sofa where Stephen was and plopped down. Her arms rested on her knees and she wouldn't make eye contact with anyone. In her hand she clutched a few sheets of tissue. He wanted to sit next to her, see if she was okay, but something told him that she didn't want him near her, right now.

Come to think of it, he thought he'd heard his "name" being mentioned at least once. Whatever had been said about him, it must not have been too flattering.

"_My apologies for making you all wait on us. But now that we've settled our disagreement for the time being, I'd like to take this time to clear the air a bit. I am able to verify _most _of Ms. Blogger's claims. The title of L is actually a secret organization of detectives who share the title. It's true that one of us did die while working on the original Kira case; that was the L whom Ms. Blogger encountered when she became entangled with the Kira case. An unfortunate mix-up. I have simply stepped up to take his place. _

"_As for Watari, yes, there is a chain of people who share this codename as well. When the first Watari died, our current one took his place." _

So that was L's secret, huh? He should have guessed that that was the case. It simply wasn't possible for one person to be responsible for solving all of those cases in such a short time. Was it? No, L had just admitted it.

Then again, he could very well have been lying about this, too. But how could they verify it if he was? What had he told Erin? Stephen doubted he would be allowed to ask. Would she even answer him if he did?

"_It goes without saying of course that what you have just learned tonight will remain strictly between everyone in this room. As will the following: while I wish to continue surveillance on Misa Amane, I do have another suspect in mind. A member of our organization defected a few years ago and we have been searching for him ever since. We think he may have somehow gotten his hands on a killer notebook and is now using it; it's possible that he's joined a criminal group to expand on his newfound power."_

Oh yeah? So Halle was right; L _did _have a suspect in mind. And he couldn't mention this before because…?

Whatever his reasons had been for withholding that information, Erin must have said something that persuaded him to change his mind.

…

Whoa. She got _L_ to do something. She'd made him change his mind. Impressive.

He looked back at her again; just in the nick of time he saw her looking back at him, but her eyes darted back to her feet the instant she noticed him.

"L, if you don't mind me asking, is there a particular reason you couldn't mention this before?" asked Rester, starting to look understandably irritated but trying to stay calm with his question.

"_I was hoping I wouldn't have to, the part about our unsub being a former member of the L organization, at least. I've been having you all research the backgrounds of all the alleged victims in hopes of finding something that tied them together, such as a common affiliation to a gang or other major criminal ring. But after tonight's interruption, I had no choice but to come clean." _

Interruption? How dare he talk about a girl that way? Sure, Erin coming here had been unexpected and it did complicate things, but he didn't have to be so rude about it. In fact—

"That's no excuse to be rude to her," he said out loud, and everyone, even Erin, turned to him in surprise. "Besides I find it hard to believe that as an organization, one of your members wouldn't bother to share with you the fact that she'd gotten mixed up in the Kira case and met one of you. But that's the only reason I can think of as to why you never said anything about _that_ sooner: because you didn't know either until just now."

A tense hush fell over the room for a minute stretched to its utmost limit.

L's response to this was cool as always: _"The previous L was one of our less competent, at least when it came to dealing with people. He was too…trusting." _

"I'm not so sure. If it's been four years already and she's never said a word about the case until now, I think that speaks volumes on how trustworthy she is."

Now everyone was giving him dirty looks, and if he could see L's face his probably would have been the dirtiest. Not that this was new, but he couldn't understand why this time when he had a point.

"_That will do, Gevanni. We all know that you're only saying this so as to salvage an attempt to get back into Ms. Blogger's good graces." _

Sadly, Erin had looked kind of touched when he'd started defending her honor like that. But once L dropped that, she froze. Her eyes narrowed and her frown became sour again, crossing into scowl territory. She turned away and crossed her arms. She didn't look at him again for the rest of their time together in this room.

_I get that you're mad at me, but you don't have to be so cold. It really doesn't suit you. _

_Wait. _

_Does she think that I—_

"_That being said, Ms. Blogger and I have struck up an agreement. She will stay with us and help by keeping an eye on Amane as she's supposedly close to her and could do so without looking suspicious. Her activities in turn will be monitored by us. I trust that everyone will be able to adapt to this new arrangement." _

"That's all well and good, but what about now?" asked Halle, not sounding terribly pleased about this herself. "Should we go ahead and take her back to the Amanes' residence? Then again, that might look strange at this time of night."

"_Let me see. It's 1:35 in the morning, currently. Strike that, 1:36. I imagine that by now the festivities have ended and most everyone has gone home and gone to bed. Ms. Blogger, you didn't tell the Amanes that you were leaving the premise for any reason, did you?" _

A soft and bitter "No" was Erin's first word since coming out of L's room. Her eyes stayed on the door the entire time. "It all happened kind of fast. Didn't get the chance."

"_That's just as well. We'll clear out a room for you and you may stay here for the rest of the night. In the morning Gevanni can drive you home. If either Amane or her sister asks, tell them that you left with Gevanni and that you spent the night with him. That should sound credible enough." _

Steve felt his eyes bulge in their sockets. _What the hell? _

"_What? _Hey now, I-I never agreed to that!" snapped Erin, her face burning that adorable shade of red again. She was practically floundering in her seat like Kermit the Frog™ whenever he got excited. "Do you have any idea what the hell you're suggesting?"

"_I do. Of course you don't have to tell them that. You could always tell them the truth. It all comes down to what you think is more worthy of sacrifice: your honor, or our only viable chance to catch a serial killer. Or you could come up with a completely different story to tell them besides what I've suggested if you're creative enough. Good luck with that." _

…

"Interesting," Near muttered to himself when he switched off the connection once more. "From the way she reacted when she saw my mask—no, just from the way she was so quick to chew me out when Lidner and Gevanni brought her here, I would think that she developed an attachment of sorts to the first L during her time with him. Stockholm syndrome?"

The teddy bear's front paws had strings attached to them that stretched over the Lego walls. The ends of them were tied around the pinkie fingers of an ugly grinning green-skinned witch figurine that stood on top of the last wall.

"And the only reason I can fathom as to why L would omit her from his reports is that the attachment became mutual."

He shook his head, his voice taking on an edge of disdain like he found the idea to be unspeakably disgusting.

"I expected better of him. He has truly proven himself to be a letdown."

He "hmphed" to himself. Then he turned the computer towards him and called for Roger. His typing skills were not the best, so Roger would have to construct and send the message he'd had in mind for him. He didn't expect Deputy Director Aizawa to be so engrossed with his weekend that he wouldn't check his E-mails. Not if he was as diligent as he was supposed to be.

…

Well, this felt awfully familiar.

As Erin tossed and turned and tried to sleep—not like she could do anything else at the moment—every profanity she could think of bounced around in her throbbing skull. _Jesus F. Christ. I'd often thought that you were an asshole, L. But this new guy Near, he's even worse! You were a _gentleman _compared to this bratty half-pint. I bet he's only putting me through this to get back at me for crashing his party. That's gotta be it. Un-fucking-believable. _

_I don't even know what to think about the other one, Mello…what could have happened to him that turned him into a serial killer? But then, why would Light or Misa become serial killers? Why would anyone become a serial killer? Does the Death Note just have that sort of power over us human beings? _She trembled at the thought and held herself more tightly. What if she somehow got a notebook for herself? Would she be seduced by its wicked power, too? What about Matsuda, or Aizawa, or Mogi or Mr. Yagami, some of the most upstanding people she'd ever known? If they got a Death Note, would they use it, too?

She hoped not. She would destroy it the instant she knew what it was.

But how _would _she know if she saw it? Besides the part about killing people, nothing about the Death Note distinguished it from any other ordinary notebook.

Would she find out what it was after she tried it? After she killed someone on accident while writing down their name and number in its pages? Oh God, how could she live with herself if that happened?

_No. You know what, I think I'll play on the safe side and burn every fucking notebook that comes my way. Ask questions later. _

She reached up to rub at her eye. She had long since washed what was left of her make-up from her face, having come here with nothing but the clothes on her back. At least this time she would get to go home, but she couldn't say she was looking forward to going home with Steve in the morning…well, later in the morning. Things between them had gotten so awkward that any chance of taking their relationship beyond friendship had probably been decimated. Probably.

And maybe it was just as well? The way things were going and the rate that they went, dating wouldn't have been possible anyway. Right? Of course. Besides, just because she was gullible didn't mean that she liked being toyed with by some slick sonofabitch. No. She was _not _going to cry again. _Stop that right now, Erin! Don't give them the satisfaction!_

Could she still even consider Steve a friend anymore? Maybe. A friend that she wanted to avoid at the moment lest she slap him or otherwise do something that she might regret later, but a friend all the same. Problem was, she found herself more and more attracted to him in a way that she couldn't simply call friendship anymore. On top of that, he'd tried to defend her in front of Near. As mad as she'd been at him, she couldn't deny how touched she felt when he did that.

But then Near had to go and say basically that Stephen was only doing it to get—

She slammed her fist into the pillow, out of frustration and to fluff it. Steve couldn't be _that _sleazy. Near was purposefully making things between them difficult. Why? Because it amused him? That was the only reason she could think of. He didn't like her or Steve, so why not make them miserable around each other for a laugh? God, not even L was _that_ cruel, that sadistic.

At least as far as she knew.

She closed her eyes and thought about the sort of relationship L might have had with his successors before he died. If Near could make a creepy mask that looked like him then they had to have known each other to some degree. But how close had they been? Had he been a role model for the boys? That might explain why Near acted so much like him. But the way Near would talk about him when he came up…did they not have a good relationship? Or did something happen that soured things between them? Maybe whatever it was happened when he'd died, or it had something to do with that?

And what about Mello? Was it that bitterness and grief that turned him down this dark path? She would have asked for more details on that but something told her that she wouldn't be answered if she did. Maybe she could try later, when she proved herself a bit more.

_I don't know. Maybe I'd be bitter too, if someone I looked up to died and I had to take his place all of a sudden. At thirteen years old, too. Jesus Christ. When I was thirteen I worried about puberty and school and my social life and making enough money delivering papers to get my own laptop, not about saving the world and not getting killed. I've often wondered what sort of horrors L must have dealt with before the Kira case, but imagine going through all that at thirteen years old. I don't know if I want to. _

…

_Doesn't mean he gets the right to be an asshole, though. _

Somehow in spite of the heat and all of her thoughts she managed to fall asleep for a time. She had to or else she wouldn't have had a vision of standing in the middle of a blank grey space that was neither cold nor warm. Just emptiness.

Well, not _complete _emptiness. She could see L up ahead, standing there with his hands in his pockets, his gaze deader than she remembered and fixed on her. Feeling heavier than usual, she trotted up to him. He didn't do the same. She started asking him all her questions, from then and for now, the demands flowing from her with the force of a rocky, angry river with a waterfall at the end.

But he didn't answer any of them. His mouth hung open ever so slightly, but it produced no words in reply. How could he answer anyway? He was dead.

_Don't just stand there with that dumb look on your face! Answer me! _

She swung back a hand and swatted him, finding that it hurt more than it would have in real life. Her hand burned in contact with his skin, like she'd splashed it in acid instead. But she didn't have time to dwell on this because then he did something he had_ never_ done in life or at least in the time she had spent with him.

He grabbed her by a fistful of her hair in one hand, a fold of flesh from her back in another, and jammed his lips on hers like a stimulated cobra. His huge, black, now fierce-looking eyes and hair became all that she could see.

She wanted desperately to break free but found herself paralyzed and helpless against his chest. The few hugs they had shared in life had been at least a little comforting, but not this one. He was singeing her with his hands, draining the heavy feeling out of her through his devouring kiss and feeding her poison in its place that corroded her throat, her mind and all her insides. His arms constricted around her to the point of crushing, like he was trying to smother and poison her at the same time. Erin could feel herself shrinking in his arms, shrinking shrinking shrinking while L got bigger and bigger as he hoisted her off her feet and up into his arms.

Until he was holding her like a teddy bear. His face was not his anymore. Now it was Near staring down at her with that creepy C-shaped smirk on his lips.

He took her by her hands and started to dangle her out in mid-air at arm's length, making her dance against her will. And she could do nothing to fight it. All she could do was watch as his face changed once again. His hair grew longer and blonder and it clashed against the grey, but the rest of his face was cast in shadow. Only his eyes were visible, flashing between searing blue and brown, but always vicious. He looked at her like an old toy he wanted nothing to do with anymore.

So he snatched her up by the neck and tossed her into open space.

And she kept on falling.

She tried to scream, but sometimes you can't scream in dreams.

Her eyes snapped open. She was back in bed again, but the room had gotten much too stuffy. Or maybe that was just her? The clock beside her read 6:42. She had gotten about four hours of sleep, if that.

She rolled over and tried to catch her breath, like a diver coming up to the surface for air. _Holy shit. What did I eat last night? _

Her stomach lurched, either out of anxiety or plain hunger. Truthfully she had been so nervous about seeing Stephen again that she hadn't had the stomach for anything at the party except soda. Then everything else happened and now she was starving and her bladder was ready to explode with whatever she hadn't emptied before bed.

So she rushed into the bathroom, relieved herself and cleaned up as best she could before going out to face the confusing and frightening world again. She wrote off her nightmare as her mind's attempt to sort through everything she had learned the night before; she had learned quite a bit, a lot of it still hard to swallow. Unfortunately, the dream hadn't helped to make any more sense of anything. She was just as bewildered as before it.

_Although the first half of it was kind of Freudian for my liking…L never did _that_ when I knew him. How my mind could conjure up something like that is beyond me. _

She held up Misa's hair clip. _Good luck, my ass._ But it wasn't hers to throw out. Misa would want it back. She had no pockets on her, so with a reluctant sigh she fixed it back into her frazzled hair. The hotel was supposed to have their complimentary breakfast buffet up and running by now and Near had allowed her to grab a bite there before heading back to Misa's place. It would go on his tab. Arguably the most semi-decent thing he'd done since they'd met.

She had no mints or means by which to brush her teeth so Erin used her tongue to scrub at the fuzz that had built up on her teeth, gargled a bit of water from the sink to try to get rid of the morning breath smell. That was where morning breath came from, after all: hanging your mouth open during sleep and letting it dry out. Yes. Even though her anger towards Steve hadn't changed she still worried about how her breath smelled. Go figure.

When she stepped out to greet her new "friends" she did her best to keep her head up and made sure to wish everyone good-morning when she saw them. The names they'd given her were probably all aliases, but she'd have to accept that for now. Sure enough, Steve had been chosen to escort her downstairs for breakfast. Oh boy.

"G'morning," she mumbled to him, looking away as they walked into the elevator. He looked pretty nice himself, not at all tired. He must've been the early-riser type.

Steve pressed the button for the first floor. "Good-morning yourself," he answered as brightly as he could. "I hope you're hungry; they've got an impressive breakfast buffet here. Anything you could want for breakfast, they've got it. Take as much as you want. Also, I want to give you something while we're down."

"Like what, an apology?"

She vaguely remembered that Steve had tried to apologize last night, but she wouldn't hear it. If he had to say it again for it to take effect, so be it. "Well, no. I mean, wait. Listen, Erin. I'm sorry about last night. I didn't mean to make you feel like I used you just to get information on Misa. And I didn't want to drag you into this mess, either."

"But you did. You _did _use me. And you were probably after something else too, while you were at it."

By the time she realized what she just said, Steve's posture stiffened. "E-excuse me? What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about. You know _very _well what I'm talking about," she grumbled, a fever sweeping over her face from her chin to the tips of her ears.

"E-Erin, I can't believe that you would think that about me," he said, sounding shocked and a bit hurt. She started to feel sorry she'd brought it up. Hunger and the lack of good sleep were clouding her thinking. She'd wanted to avoid him in case she did something regrettable and wouldn't you know, she'd gone and done it anyway. But then, how would she get over it if she didn't confront the problem directly? Hear it from Steve himself. It wasn't like things could get any worse between them, right?

As the elevator chimed and opened up to their floor, Steve said, "All right, I admit I like the ladies and I've had my share of girlfriends in the past. But that doesn't mean I want to sleep with every girl that comes my way. Just because I like James Bond doesn't mean that I _am _him. You can ask Halle. We've been working together for years, but that's it. We've never thought of each other as anything more than field partners. Then there's my mom and my sister, but those go without saying."

When they reached the dining hall, Erin couldn't help the question that slipped from her lips: "Okay, so what does that make me?"

They stopped in front of the beverage table. Erin wasn't sure if she liked the fact that Steve paused before he gave his answer: "I like you. I think you're a good person and a really good friend. You've got your faults, but you know what they say: a person who's looking for friends without faults won't have any friends at all."

A really good friend. That was it? Nothing more, nothing less? But before that he'd said that he liked her. Which was it?

He passed her a glass and took another for himself. "And think about it: if I really wanted to sleep with you, don't you think I would've tried to while we were still hanging out in New York?"

"Hmm…I guess." She poured herself what she thought was orange juice while Stephen got cranberry. Now she was starting to feel stupid, more than before. How could she let Near twist up her brain like this?

Steve must have picked up on this because then he started to look more serious. "Does this have anything to do with what _he _said last night?"

"Sorry, can't tell you that. I'm not allowed. That's part of the deal," she mumbled, picking up some prongs to help herself to some fresh bacon strips. "Although I _guess _I could mention that he said very few flattering things in there. Actually, nothing he said in there about anything or anyone was flattering. I don't like him, but if I'm gonna clear Misa's name I don't really have a choice but to work with him."

"Amen to that," said Steve. Erin felt an impulse to offer Steve some bacon, but remembered then how he'd mentioned being Jewish. Sure enough he passed over the bacon, ham and sausage and went over to the next table for fruit and a bagel instead.

"Yeah. Misa's the only reason I agreed to it." Erin felt a little better. During the Kira case she couldn't necessarily complain about L to anyone besides Matsuda, and even he didn't like to hear it. It was refreshing to be around someone she could openly grouse about bosses with.

Once Erin got her pancakes and syrup, the two sat down with their plates facing each other. "Fruit, juice and a bagel? That's all you're gonna eat?"

"It's all I need," he said simply. "I don't do meat."

"You gotta get your protein in there somewhere. Get an egg or something. Wait. Is an egg considered meat?" _Boy Erin, you can be such a dumbass. _

"In some circles. Some vegetarians might eat eggs, but vegans don't. And I am getting my proteins. There's the cream cheese," he pointed out as he started slathering his bagel slices with plain cream cheese before adding his two creamers to his mug of coffee. The berries and melon, apple and orange slices lay in a circle around the bagel slices. Something about the way Steve prepared his food struck her as very meticulous, like he wouldn't eat until everything was arranged and dressed the way he preferred. "Oh, and the cream for my coffee, now that I'm thinking of it." He stirred the concoction with his spoon.

Erin looked down at her two eggs, two bacon strips and two pancakes bathed in butter and maple syrup. Suddenly, without really knowing why, she felt like a pig next to him.

"What's the matter? Don't like your food?"

"Huh? No, no it's not that, I just—uhm, are you mad now? On account of, y'know, what I said earlier?"

"No. I don't really blame you. This has just been an ugly misunderstanding. But that's why we talk to each other," he said before taking a sip of his cranberry juice. "So we can straighten things out, more or less. At the very least we wouldn't be able to work together if we didn't." Well. If he was mad at her, he sure knew how to hide it. No, Steve wouldn't hide his feelings. Would he?

"Hey. For what it's worth…I really did enjoy hanging out with you at the party, dancing and all. That's kind of the reason I came in the first place. Ah, besides the other thing."

Erin was just getting over the food thing and was about to shovel a pit of pancake into her mouth. When she heard this, she lowered her fork.

"Really? No. No, you're just saying that."

"It's the truth. I figure I owe you at least that much for being upfront about gussying up for me."

She hastily shoved the pancake piece into her mouth while cutting another one as she chewed. So now what? Did Steve like her as much as she liked him? No, it was too early to tell. She'd already asked him what she was to him, and he'd said she was a good friend. If she pushed any further, would she be coming on too strong?

Wait. If he said that she was a friend, did that mean he wasn't interested in dating her? What did they call it when this happened, getting friend-zoned? Ugh, this romance stuff was confusing and Steve wasn't exactly helping to make it less so. She took a sip of her juice and her lips puckered. She'd gotten grapefruit by mistake.

_You know what, fuck it. I've embarrassed myself so many times already for the past few days, I'm just gonna go ahead and ask it—_

"O-okay, I'm confused about something. Do you like me as a friend, or more than that?"

The orange slice hung from Steve's mouth. He quickly tore the juicy fruit off the peel with his teeth, put the peel back on his plate and swallowed. Rather endearing, Erin thought. "Ah. I'm sorry if I confused you. Well, this is kind of sudden, and it's a bit early to know for sure, but yeah. I definitely like you as a friend…but I think I might like you _more_ than that." Amazing, how easily he could admit something like this. He really had been around the block several times. "I would consider dating you, if that's what you mean."

Erin felt like she would explode into a cloud of confetti, sparkles, apprehension and happiness, but tried to stay calm on the outside. "Oh. That's—that's good to hear. Thank you for that. Because, I think I might like you more than just a friend, too. B-but, I'm not entirely sure either."

Steve flashed her one of his easy-going smiles. "So you finally admit it."

"Wh-what does that mean, was I that obvious?"

"Kind of, but I wanted to wait until you said so yourself. You'd really have it cut out for you in poker," he teased.

It wouldn't be good to throw away good juice despite it not being what she'd wanted, so Erin swallowed the rest of her glass and then tried to dilute the sourness lingering in her mouth with some more syrup-soaked pieces of pancake. "Er, so what now? Where do we go from here?"

"Give it some more time, go on a couple more dates when time, and L, allows it. See if it would work. You don't technically work with us, so it shouldn't be a big problem as long as we don't flaunt it in front of everyone."

_When L allows it. _For some reason Erin didn't like the sound of that. Steve was of course talking about Near, not that he knew this, but what about actual L? This is what he would have wanted, for her to move on in every sense. Besides if he was still around today, she didn't think he'd have the right to have a problem with this, seeing as how he'd never once tried to let her know whatever feelings he'd had.

Or was she being petulant to think this, seeing as how she didn't figure any of it out until after she'd left him and by then could do nothing about it? After having the sort of dream she'd had hours before…

"That—that sounds like a plan, Stan."

"You mean Steve," he laughed.

"Of course I did." She polished off her eggs and bacon. Now that they'd put their feelings out in the open, Erin found that her appetite had gotten bigger.

"Oh yeah. There was something else I'm supposed to give you. Hold on…"

He reached into his back pocket to pull out a small black box. Instead of getting down on one knee like Erin had briefly imagined for whatever dumb reason, he simply put it on the table and opened it to reveal a set of small earrings. Their design was relatively simple: silver, with large amethysts in the middle of each.

Erin almost fell out of her seat when she saw them. "Whoa! Y-you're giving me jewelry already?"

"They're not from me, they're from him. The earrings I would pick out would be more tasteful. He wants you to wear these when you're around Misa. They have bugs in them. They're fragile, so be careful with them."

Oh boy. She was going back with bugs on her ears? Wouldn't that be invasion of privacy? But if Erin was going to prove Misa's innocence to Near, she supposed she'd _have_ to wear these. This was all for her own good. Even so—

"But Steve, I don't pierce my ears. Won't it look strange if I come back all of a sudden with earrings?"

"Don't worry, these are clip-ons, another indicator that they're not from me. Besides, if you're starting to get into skirts and make-up, I don't think it would be too much of a stretch if you wanted to start wearing a little jewelry, too. I think Misa would buy that." She could have sworn she heard a wink in his voice as he said this, and she gave him a playful punch on the arm for it.

…

The ride back wasn't as tense as Erin worried it would be, but her stomach still fluttered and jumped; the food jumbling around in it made this more uncomfortable. She thought about what was going to happen now, whether this was going to get back to Aizawa and her friends in Japan (boy, old Aizawa was surely going to let her have it), how this would affect her job and her possible relationship with Steve and her friendship with Misa. She hoped that this wouldn't get back to her family in NY; the less involved they were in this, the better.

She'd have to check in with them sometime today, make sure that they knew she was alive and well.

Most of all, she prayed that they would find Mello and destroy the notebook as soon as possible, so no more people would have to die. She hoped that they would be able to save him.

The inside of the car was cool and the radio on. Of all things, Billy Joel's™ "She's Got a Way"™ had just come on and Steve as if on instinct started to sing along to it. She had to say, he wasn't half-bad at singing.

"_She comes to me when I'm feeling down, inspires me, _

"_Without a sound she touches me, and I get turned around…" _

No joke, she could actually envision him sitting at a piano and playing this to her, in her wildest dreams, anyway. Maybe in the future it would become a reality, but fantasy would do for now. When the song ended, Erin clapped.

If Steve hadn't been busy driving he probably would have bowed. "Thank you, you're too kind. God, I love this guy, and that song never gets old. So, Erin. You were on the first Kira case and met the previous L?"

She tensed up at his question. "Uh…yeah. I'm sorry, I can't tell you too much about it, I promised I wouldn't. Although, I guess I can tell you that the first guy was kind of a jerk. I mean, a big jerk, a real smartass like our guy. Smartassery must be a requirement to be L. He wasn't always bad, though; this new guy, he's a lot worse than he ever was. In fact, I might not even be alive today if it wasn't for him."

"Oh. That's pretty heavy."

"Yeah. And I guess because he saved my life I feel I've got this—this obligation to him to live my life the best I can."

"Well, everyone should make the most of life regardless. You come to appreciate that a little more in my occupation."

Eventually Misa's house came into view on the side of the road and all the cars that had lined up in the street had vanished. A few bits of trash had found their way on the yard here and there, but the damage didn't look too bad. Nothing that she and the Amanes couldn't clean up in a few hours.

As she went to undo her seat belt, Steve asked, "Would you like me to walk you up to the door?"

"Huh? Um, no thanks. It looks like a pretty clear day and the yard's not booby-trapped, so I won't need a human shield. I think I could get up there by myself."

"Okay. Can I at least kiss you good-night?"

…

…

"_What?" _

"Can I kiss you good-night? I mean, it's okay if you don't want me to. I understand if you don't. It's just a thing that I have." Steve brushed some hair out of his face and propped up against the steering wheel. "For me a date isn't complete until I kiss my girl good-night, no matter how bad the date was as a whole. But I'm assuming that this was a date to begin with, or it started as one. Let me know if I'm wrong, because I could be."

Oh God. A _kiss? _Erin didn't know if she was ready for kisses, yet. After the breakfast she'd had, she didn't imagine her breath to smell the best. Her hands, now clamming up again, clenched around the strap of the seat belt. She could still remember her first kiss: second grade out in the yard during recess. She'd been very fond of this boy in her class, Danny. Or was it Denny? She couldn't quite remember now. It was her understanding that girls showed boys that they liked them by kissing them, like her parents did. So she gave him one, totally without warning after a particularly good game of kickball. Just a peck.

"Well…kinda, yeah. I didn't want to call it that 'cause I didn't know if you would feel the same way, but then we danced and spent the night at a hotel and ate breakfast, so I guess you _could_ call that a date. Something resembling one, at any rate."

His lips were dirty and sweaty and afterwards Danny/Denny panicked and ran off screaming to the teacher. She got a note sent home with her that afternoon and never approached him again no matter how much she wanted to. The other kids in the class refused to let either of them live it down for the rest of the term. While it might be a stretch to say that the ordeal had completely ruined her romantic confidence, sometimes like now she wondered…

"So when you say a kiss, you mean like, o-on the lips?"

"It doesn't have to be on the lips," he shrugged. "It could be on the cheek, or forehead, or even on the hand. The lips are the best place, but if you don't want that, I'd settle for the hand." To demonstrate he offered his open hand to her, palm up.

No. She couldn't. Her breath stank, and even if it didn't she still didn't know if she could kiss him yet. After all, just a few hours ago she'd thought he was using her. While she wanted to think that they'd settled that issue over breakfast, an inexplicable shadow of doubt still lingered in her mind.

Still, she couldn't just leave him empty-handed, after all the kindness he'd shown her.

After concentrating on the quiet purr of the car engine for a moment, Erin worked up a smile, smacked her lips against her palm and then used said hand to shake his. "There, there's your kiss. Good-night, Steve. Or good-morning, whatever, it's nighttime somewhere. I'll see you later!"

"Yeah. Good-night, Erin. Thanks."

She couldn't get out of the car fast enough, and as she slammed the door behind her she left Steve leaning against the wheel shaking his head, disappointed but not really surprised.

…

_I wonder if I put him off, _Erin thought as she buzzed in to get through the gate. _I didn't mean to, but he made me nervous again. Oh well. I can't go back, he's gotta be halfway down the street by now. Maybe I should wait until tomorrow before putting on the earrings? Until then, I can put on some pants, maybe put them in my pocket or something—_

When Erin stepped into the messy house Misa greeted her in one of her nightgowns: lacy, pink and on the skimpy side to show off her thighs and cleavage. Her freshly washed and dried hair billowed down her back like a veil. "Oh-ho-ho! Well good-morning to you, Eri! Gosh, I knew there was something between you and Steve but I didn't think it was _that _strong."

"Uh, hey Misa. Wait, what's that supposed to—"

"Erin? Oh, thank goodness," cried Kimiko, bounding out of the kitchen in her fluffy purple robe and slippers. "Where have you been? You disappeared and you were gone all night. We tried to call you but you wouldn't answer your home phone and you left your cell phone here at the house. Are you all right?"

"I told you Kimi, we had nothing to worry about," said Misa with a cheeky grin. "Erin took off with Steve and spent the night with him. Oh look at you! Your face is going bright red," she giggled as she pointed both fingers at her. "Hey, what happened to your make-up?"

Erin put up her own hands in defense. "O-o-okay, you got me. I did go with Steve and I'm sorry I didn't give you guys a heads-up. But we didn't _do_ anything—"

Misa put her hands on her hips. "How can you be out all night with a guy that you like and not do anything? Sounds pretty scandalous to us! Unless you're not the type to kiss and tell."

_Misa, you have no idea. And here's to having it stay that way. _

"I'm not, but I can tell you what happened since we didn't 'kiss.' I forgot my make-up here and I got tired of constantly having to reapply it, so I went ahead and washed it off. But first are we gonna clean up or what?"

"We had a long night so we slept in and we're making breakfast right now. Then we'll clean up. You can tell us all the details over rice, soup, plums and _tamago_."

Oh. Another breakfast? Erin supposed she could stomach a little more food if she took smaller proportions. "Yeah. Okay, sure. Oh, Misa?"

The sisters were heading back towards the kitchen when Misa turned around. "Yeah?"

Erin felt a strange compulsion to give the girl a hug so she did, which Misa readily returned. There was simply no way Misa could be at it again; nothing Near said could make her believe that. "I'm sorry if I kept you guys up with worry. I didn't mean to run off like that," she murmured into the top of her fragrant head.

"Don't worry about it. You do what your heart tells you; we're not your keepers. I knew you'd be fine. Misa has gut feelings about these sorts of things. Kimi's the worry wart around here; she was thinking about calling the cops before you showed up, can you believe that?"

"Hm. I'll be with you guys in a bit. I need to change and check on Lawliet. Here's your clip back," she offered, proceeding to unsnap it from the back of her head when they pulled away. "You…you were right. It worked like a charm."

…

"Damn it. It was right here a second ago…all right, which one of you scarfed down my cake?"

Only Kiyomi could see Umbra rising up from under Nishiyama's desk to lick his claws clean, and she bit back a smirk as her rival passed through the spirit totally oblivious to his presence. Since the two had become acquainted Umbra seemed to get more and more comfortable being in the human world, mostly for the food it offered. He seemed to have developed a rapid taste for sweets in particular, and he didn't care where they came from. Just the other day she'd had to stop him from ransacking a bakery counter in broad daylight and make him wait until she could reach her wallet to get the goods the socially acceptable way.

But as important as it was to keep the creature satiated in exchange for his help, her money had to be saved for other important things, especially now that she was on her own. So she'd granted him permission to help himself to whatever sweets he could find around the station as long as he was discrete, left no crumbs and didn't eat where people could see. After all, it would look strange to most people to see food floating in mid-air before disappearing into nothingness.

Should she have felt any qualms for doing this? Perhaps, but Kiyomi didn't like anyone here to begin with, Nishiyama least of all. No. She liked _Demegawa _the least, with Nishiyama a close second.

Fortunately she wouldn't have to put up with either of them for much longer. In fact, the only reason she hadn't killed them both already was because she needed them to build up her reputation before she could move on. Indeed, these past few weeks had been quite lucrative since the notebook had fallen into her apartment. Recently on the way to interviewing Masako Wakita, a fugitive suspected of murdering a co-worker at a hostess club, the woman had collapsed right in front of their van.

A heart attack, as Kiyomi had written.

She was surprised but pleased with herself at how well she could act on TV. She had called for an ambulance though she knew it would have been useless to do so. She had touched her victim's neck to find no pulse and found herself reveling and at the same time revolted with the sensation of Wakita's limp lifeless flesh against her fingers. Revolted because Wakita had been a criminal and unworthy of her sympathy however fake (like a carcass left out for maggots), reveling because she had finally been brought to justice for all of the nation to behold, and Nishiyama would have no choice but to report the story alongside her and face the fact that Kiyomi had shown her up. _Again. _

It had all been Kiyomi's doing. If someone had to step in and take Kira's place as god of the new world—or _goddess_, as it were—let it be her.

"All right Saeko, what seems to be the problem?"

"Someone keeps taking the dessert for my lunch, and no one will own up to it!"

Nishiyama was especially pissy today, and with good reason. Kiyomi's efforts had finally begun to pay off when Demegawa had told her in passing that the higher-ups wanted her on the anchor desk. She had guts, her comments were sharp, her sensitivity towards the issues surrounding Kira was impressive and drew people in, blah-blah-blah. "So I guess you finally blew me," he muttered. "Just not the way I would have liked."

Kiyomi accepted this news gracefully, as she always had. Nishiyama? Not so much.

"All right, baby, just calm down. How's about you and I go get lunch? I was just about to go anyway," he cooed in that sleazy way of his, patting the small of her back with his grubby, meaty hand. "You can get all the dessert you want."

Kiyomi didn't look back at them as they left the office. As she focused on the computer in front of her, she shielded her mouth with her hand so no one could see the small cynical smile stretching it. Once Saeko crossed that threshold, she would never cross back over it again.

_Saeko Nishiyama, traffic accident. At 2:20pm while driving back from her lunch date, she gets in an argument with her date and demands to stop the car. She goes out into the road, gets struck by a delivery truck, and dies instantly. _

…

"Why did you kill that woman?" asked Umbra once the two were back in the privacy of her apartment. His tone was not accusatory, but simply curious, like a child asking why his parent did this or that. That was the best way Kiyomi could describe her new companion, quiet and vaguely child-like despite his huge grotesque appearance. "She wasn't a criminal like all of your other victims."

Kiyomi kicked her heels off of her aching feet. As predicted, the station had been thrown into pandemonium the instant word had gotten back that Nishiyama had been in an accident. All of their shows had been cancelled for today and everyone had been sent home. "Maybe not in the conventional sense, but she was a criminal in her own way. She used her looks to get ahead and used her position as an anchorwoman as an excuse to bring down everyone around her. She was someone that this world could do better without, an inconvenience. After the funeral no one will think anything of her, or if they do it will not be fondly."

Umbra tapped a claw against his rags, on top of the place where his mouth was hidden. "I think I will miss her a little. She always brought good cakes and other sweet things to eat."

"Don't worry. I'll try to fill in the void she left in your stomach. Although I do find it odd that for a shinigami you would have to eat so much."

Umbra scratched his head. "Actually, we don't _need _to eat like humans do. I do it because I find it stimulating. It's different. We don't have cakes and cookies and other sweet things in my world. It's a rather dull place, where I come from: no color, no sounds, no sweets."

Kiyomi made a face as she searched her closet and laid out her clothes for tomorrow after changing into her gown behind her screen. The black blouse and skirt would be most appropriate, to express her "mourning" for the loss of her "mentor." As the new anchorwoman, this was bound to be her first announcement.

"Maybe you do feel sorry for killing Saeko if you're going to say words for her?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm announcing her death because it's my job. Sometimes people say things they don't mean and keep their real thoughts and feelings secret, in order to keep up appearances. In an ideal world we would be more honest with each other, but as it is, honesty is inconvenient."

Umbra was quiet for a moment as he followed her back into the kitchen. She opened the fridge and pulled out leftovers from the night before to warm up in the microwave. He followed suit and took out the remaining half of the strawberry cake they'd gotten from their adventure at the bakery.

"It's strange. Shinigami aren't so selective about who we kill; we just do it. We never explain why we kill to ourselves because we don't feel the need to. Killing is what we do, all we know, all we are. But humans, like yourself, have to try to justify killing when you do it. If all these victims truly meant nothing to you, why try to justify killing them to yourself?"

"And why do you have to ask such stupid questions?" snapped Kiyomi, around the time the microwave beeped. She pulled from it her hot plate of food using a dishcloth, grabbed a pair of chopsticks and headed for her bedroom where she kept her computer. "I've told you my reasons for doing this: Kira was doing a good thing for the world by eliminating the criminal element, and now that he's gone someone must finish what he started, and more. That's how I feel. These people mean so much to me in that they must be removed for the new world to happen. I would hardly call them 'victims.' As much as I'd love to do more, right now I have to keep my killings equally spread out and under the radar so the police don't catch on.

"And anyway what would you know? I wouldn't expect you to have feelings or opinions about the human condition. You just admitted that you're a ruthless spirit of death that only knows about killing." She waited for the computer to warm up and then opened up the Internet to do a search on criminals still at large.

"Hmm…yes. Maybe you're right. Perhaps I find you humans confounding because I have no feelings or values of my own. I wouldn't understand."

Umbra severed a slice from his cake, held it pinched in his two claws and licked at the frosting with his long giraffe-like tongue poking out from the folds of rags. The slurps and grunts he produced nibbled and gnawed at her concentration, and she hissed at him, "Can't you be quieter about eating? I think I've told you this before."

"I _am _being quieter," the creature replied innocently.

"Well, be quieter than that, please. It's distracting."

While she sat here, what was Kiyomi to do about Demegawa? A public execution? As satisfying as that would be, Kiyomi resisted the idea. No, it might look too suspicious if he got up on TV during one of his programs and suddenly collapsed of a heart attack. She didn't know how much the police knew about how Kira killed his victims, but given her close proximity to the man and her affinity for Kira's ideology it wouldn't take much for someone to trace his death back to her.

Unless she made his death look more natural and less surprising.

A sly smile played at her lips when she came up with something. Not only would his death look unsurprising, but it would humiliate him. And before then, he would do probably the only good thing he'd ever done in his life. The Death Note was the only way one could get Demegawa to do anything remotely charitable.

The Death Note could do many things.

_She _could do many things as a goddess.

She pushed the button on top of her pen and with his fat, mustached, greasy-haired face in her mind, inscribed the following at the top of the next page:

_Hitoshi Demegawa, sepsis from a ruptured appendix. On September 4__th__ at 1:30am he goes to a playground drunk and bets he can fit into an infant's swing for 9800 yen. He strips naked and manages to squeeze into the swing but cannot get back out. Twenty minutes later his appendix ruptures with pressure to his abdomen and he dies from septic shock. Before his death happens, he spends the rest of his time alive between today's date and September 4__th__ giving back all of the money acquired from his "Kira's Kingdom" scam; he does not mention a word about this to the public. _


	7. Attention

_**Disclaimer! **_**All fictional entities featured/ mentioned in this segment belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata; except Erin Blogger and a few extra characters not from the canon cast, who I made up for the purpose of this fan fiction. **

**I would start by giving y'all a long-winded explanation about why this took me two months to get out but let's be honest with each other. You don't care about that and neither do I. You click on those messages in your inboxes expecting a new chapter and darn it, that's what I'm giving ya! All the same, I do hope this makes up for the wait! **

_**7. Attention**_

"Okay…here's another good word: 'challenging.'"

He sat on the couch with Yumi standing in front of him in her pajamas. As though she was up on stage in front of a microphone, she locked her arms behind her back, closed her eyes and answered automatically, "Challenging. Chal-len-ging. C-H-A-L-L-E-N-G-I-N-G. Challenging. In a sentence: You should give me more _challenging _words to spell." Her rich brown eyes popped open again and she grinned at him. That grin got to him every time. No matter what weighed on his mind at any given moment, Aizawa couldn't resist smiling back at her.

No. He wasn't Aizawa here. Here with his girls he was Dad, or Daddy, depending on which of them addressed him.

"Yumi, you seem to know your words pretty well already. Are you sure you want to spend what's left of your summer vacation practicing this?"

"I have to," she answered matter-of-factly. "If I have any chance to winning the Spelling Bee in November, I have to practice. I want to be able to spell the entire dictionary from cover to cover by then, and the dictionary you gave me for my birthday is gonna be a big he—no, it will be _advantageous_. Hm, that's another good word! Ad-van-ta-geous. A-D-V-A-N-T-A-G-E-O-U-S. Advantageous."

Wow. Yumi had just turned ten and she could already spell words off the bat that he still had to spell-check now and then, in English _and _their native tongue. Her teacher's encouragement had made her head swell, but generally in a good way. Then again, Yumi had always been good with words. It was facts and numbers she had trouble retaining.

"Come on Dad! Open it! Give me a harder word."

"Uh, o-okay. I'll see what I can find."

He thumbed through the new book and searched the top of the pages for a good word, the scent of fresh print rising up to his nostrils, though not as crisp as the day before. As he did this, Anika bounded into the living room with a fuzzy cowhide blanket tied around her shoulders like a cape and her bull-horn headband nestled in her dark wiry nest of hair. "Spelling is so boring," she piped up as she climbed over the arm of the couch and tumbled in under his arm. "Daddy, come play Moo-Moo Girl with me again! We always have more fun playing Moo-Moo Girl."

"Uh, I'd love to, Anika. But it's getting kind of late and—"

"He's busy with me right now, Anika," huffed Yumi. "We played all day, now it's my time. H-hey! Don't touch my dictionary! You'll mess up the pages that way!"

"This isn't a dict'ary, it's an evil magic book and you're the wicked witch that cast him under its spell! Now it's up to Moo-Moo Girl to save Daddy! _Moo-Moo to the rescue!_"

"Anika! You little—g-get back here!" shouted the older girl as she chased after her baby sister around the living room, the little one holding the book high over her head and squealing all the while. Meanwhile Aizawa stayed on the couch, wanting to join in but finding himself inexplicably shaken about Anika's mentioning of "an evil magic book."

Perhaps because there _were _evil magic books out there? And he dreaded the possibility, no matter how remote, of either Yumi or Anika getting one of those. After all, he'd lost his sanity, one of his best friends and his marriage in trying to keep these two from slipping into a dark world where one could lose his life for even the most minor infraction and somehow that would be treated as okay and even just.

_But you won't always be there to protect them. _

_No. I'll _always _be there for them. _

_Really? You're not really there now. And who knows what's going to happen with these new killings? What if you get killed? Who will protect them then? _

He shoved these thoughts aside with a defiant and almost desperate, _Then I won't get killed. None of us are going to die on my watch. Never again. _With that, he sprung off the couch in spite of the ache in his muscles from the day's excitement and followed the girls, stubbing his toe on the coffee table along the way.

Eventually Yumi did get her dictionary back after a vicious tickle-fight, and afterwards at 9:15 he deemed it time for bed. "Now Yumi, as good as it is to study you won't be able to retain anything if you don't get a good night's sleep, and Anika, Moo-Moo Girl won't be able to save the day if she's tired. Even superheroes need their rest."

Once all of the bedtime rituals had been completed—toilet flushed, hands washed, teeth brushed, kisses and hugs shared, covers tucked and stuffed cows retrieved from under the bed and dusted off—he found himself back on the couch nursing his still tender toe and pouring himself a cold glass of Asaki draft with ice added since he couldn't keep the beer in the fridge where the girls could see and get at it. As much as he needed this, he couldn't drink in front of the girls. Of course not, that would be setting a horrible example. Only after they'd gone to bed could he crack open a can.

Since he'd dedicated the entire day to them he hadn't had the chance to check his E-mails, so he fired up his laptop and logged in as soon as he could get into the Internet. Better to come back to work with as few surprises as possible.

Speaking of…

_Huh? Eriko sent me a message? "No Subject"…_

What on Earth would Eriko have to say to him, especially at this time of night? At one time, back when they were still dating and in the earliest years of their marriage Eriko would put a "3" in the subject line and a "3~" at the end of her message in the same way most might use X's for "kisses." That was so long ago, before reality seeped in. Now it was "(No Subject)?" He almost didn't want to click on it; what would she have to say to him that she couldn't say when he had come to get the girls?

Then again, maybe it was important? He wouldn't know unless he opened it. Taking a sip of his beer, he absently sloshed the light low-malt concoction around his mouth like mouthwash and was about to swallow when he clicked on the message.

What he saw had him spitting up most of it all over the front of his shirt.

_Mr. Shuichi Aizawa, _

_For safety and convenience I borrowed your ex-wife's address so that I may contact you. I apologize for doing so, but surely you understand the need to stay confidential. I would like your assistance on a case that I am working on. If you are willing to assist me please access the fourth block of the fourth section of the Manga Kissa server tomorrow at 09:00. The line will be open for five minutes and you'll have to break through the firewall yourself. _

_L_

_PS: Please destroy your computer within twenty-four hours of reading this message. _

…

He didn't know what was more mind-boggling: the fact that L who was supposed to have been scattered ashes for four years now had just sent him a message asking for his help, the fact that he'd used Eriko's address to do it, or that he was making him contact him at a café called Manga Kissa, break through a firewall _and _destroy his brand-new US $400 laptop by tomorrow night. Perhaps a combination of the three?

Aizawa hastily put the glass back on its coaster before it could slip out of his hand. What the hell? This couldn't be L! At the same time, this message sounded way too elaborate to be a simple prank, from Eriko or any ordinary trouble-maker ("trolls," Matsuda called them). This had to be from the person who made that broadcast and had called himself L. Who _was _he, and what could he possibly want from him?

Was it safe to just ignore this message? His constricted gut advised against that more and more with every befuddled second. Not if this guy was serious, and chances were he was. He would know if Aizawa ignored him. What if he retaliated?

He pinched the place between his eyes to ease the pressure building up behind it. It looked like this was the only way he could finally get some answers to the questions that had been plaguing him ever since this all started. But it was Sunday tomorrow, wasn't it? He couldn't just leave the girls home alone while he ran this errand, not when he had no idea how long it would take. He certainly couldn't take them with him. He'd have to take them back to Eriko's first thing before setting out to this task.

_But what about breakfast? I was really looking forward to breakfast with them tomorrow. _

Exhaling through his puckered lips, he picked the glass back up and took another sip. _I guess I can put it off and can eat with them afterwards. Maybe invite Eriko along. It's been a while since we ate together as a family. _

His eyes squeezed shut tighter than they should, the longer he mulled over it. He and Eriko had been amicable enough around each other, or so he liked to think. Sometimes though he wondered how much of it was genuine and how much of it was a front for the girls' sake. Since they split, Eriko had become more aloof to him; he could hear it in the tone of her voice, see it in the look in her eyes where her smile didn't reach as often as it should when they were in each other's company. He supposed that it was her defense mechanism, to keep her from getting reattached to a man who had practically gotten remarried to his job. A dangerous job at that, one that could take his life any day if he wasn't careful, and had on a few occasions come close.

And not just on her end. He found himself in question, too. Not that he didn't wish her happiness and security, but sometimes it felt as though she had abandoned him, at least in spirit.

_Or did I abandon her first? I-I never meant to. Oh hell, what difference does it make, who abandoned whom when? It takes two to tango, doesn't it? We're better off this way, no matter how I slice it. If we'd have stayed together, who knows how much worse things would have gotten? _

He'd heard stories from many divorced parents who said that they only stayed and put up with the strife as long as they did for the kids. But now that he'd joined the club, he wondered if staying when you knew it was over and letting it drag on actually hurt the kids worse in the long run. Especially when even the kids could see it, like Yumi and Anika had seemed to.

He punctuated his musings with another large gulp of his beer. His shirt was starting to feel sticky against his chest from where he'd spilled his drink. With a sigh, he got up and hobbled towards his room to change, switching his thoughts to how he was to dispose of his computer and carry out the task asked of him, never mind his reluctance. On the way he passed the half-open door of the girls' room, and he peered inside to see the two of them nestled in their respective beds, their faces soft and blissful with sleep. One almost would've never guessed how much these two bickered and chased each other around when awake.

He saw Moo-Moo lying on the floor under Anika's dangling hand. Holding his breath, he crept into the room, picked up the plush cow and her arm and gently wrapped both by her small round face. In the shadows her dreamy smile seemed to broaden a little at the gesture as she drew the toy closer to her, and a warm, protective familiar feeling swept through him. One that only a father could feel for his little girls.

He hurried back out before he could make a noise that might wake her or Yumi up.

_No matter what happens, I'll always be there for them. _

So he kept telling himself.

…

"Well Aizawa, this is an unusual place to meet for you," said Ide with a bemused frown as he surveyed the business standing before them. A mug of coffee was clutched in his hand, a liquid battery to wake him up early on a day that he normally spent sleeping in and reading his novels.

"I know, but I didn't exactly have a choice on the matter. I called you because your hacking skills are better than mine; it'd take me a lot longer than five minutes to get through the firewall."

"Do you mind if I ask why you need to do this, anyway? Or should I wait until after we get in for answers?"

"The latter, I'm afraid." L never said that he couldn't bring someone from work with him. Besides, if he was looking for assistance on a case as he'd said—and if it was the one Aizawa had guessed—then the other detectives from the former Kira task force would inevitably get involved no matter what.

The first thing he noticed as they stepped inside was that the café was unusually under-occupied today. Virtually no one else was here, and Aizawa had to wonder briefly if "L" had somehow arranged that. The man allegedly had more power than all of the governments and investigative bureaus in the world combined, which frankly sounded like more natural power than any one man could or should be trusted with.

And that assumed that a man didn't also have a killer notebook.

Once the two found their cubicle, Ide sat down, set his coffee next to the monitor out of the way, and lightly cracked his knuckles. No time was spared for small talk. "All right, let's get to work."

Luckily this wasn't something that Ide couldn't handle with his basic training. Just as it looked as though he had gotten access to the server, the entire screen became stark white, with the exception on that lone black calligraphic letter floating in the center of the screen, one that Aizawa and Ide had come to associate with some of the most loathsome things in existence.

"_Shuichi Aizawa?" _ The synthetic voice sounded exactly like the one L had used. Already this felt way too surreal for Aizawa's liking, and probably for Ide's too, given the stunned look on his face.

"This is him," he answered over Ide's shoulder when he found his voice again. "And I brought one of my partners from the NPA, Hideki Ide."

"_I don't recall saying that you could do that." _

"I didn't read anything in the message that said that I couldn't either," said Aizawa, a thinly suppressed growl in his voice. As much as he didn't like L, there was something profoundly disturbing about having an imposter take up your identity after your death and act exactly like you. Aizawa couldn't wish that on anyone.

Although given what L had once said about going by at least two prominent detective names that likely did not begin as his own, maybe this was karma paying him back?

"And anyway, I'll be upfront with you: we're not inclined to trust you at the moment, not when you call yourself L. The first man who called himself L died four years ago on a case. So what does that make you?"

"_I figured that you would say that. The truth is, the man you worked with on the Kira case and myself are both part of an organization of detectives that all share the title of 'L.' After he died, I was chosen to take his place." _

He and Ide bit back a collective gasp. They shouldn't have been surprised that L never told them that, but still, how could they be sure that this "L" was telling the truth?

"How can we be sure that what you're saying is true?" said Ide, his dark eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"_Simple. I have someone here that can verify my claim. It's someone that you may know and who I assume that you trust." _

Someone that they may know…

Wait a minute.

The two heard crackles, like someone was thoroughly clearing their throat on the other end. Then a meek, faintly nasally voice greeted them: _"G-g'mornin', guys." _

Aizawa got too close to losing his grip on the swivel chair and falling on top of Ide, whose hand had frozen in mid-air while reaching for his coffee.

_Blogger! That IDIOT! I told her not to go to anyone! _

"Blogger? Is that you? What are you—what are you doing over there? Where are you? Did you—"

"_I-I know, I know and I'm sorry! I swear I didn't go to anyone first! But then the party and Misa and Stephen and Halle and—and then one thing led to another thing…wh-what this guy's saying is pretty much true. Eh, more or less. Like, 70 percent. Maybe 65." _

Ide looked ready to facepalm. Frankly Aizawa felt the same way. But besides being annoyed as hell with her, he still worried a little. The first L had taken her into custody after she saw their group arrest Misa Amane in front of To-Oh campus. None of them could really do anything about it then no matter how much they disagreed with the arrangement. They had to keep the details of the case under wraps and as an aspiring newshound there had been no guarantee then that she wouldn't go and blab about it the first chance she got. She wouldn't even accept hush money, or so they'd been told when they first got word of it.

If L had never done that, would she be in this position today? He doubted it, and he hated how there was nothing he could do that would change things now. Mad as he was, he couldn't help but pity her.

"L" regained the connection. _"Don't get the wrong impression, Mr. Aizawa. As big of a mouth as Ms. Blogger has, the blame is not entirely hers. There was a mix-up, a series of interactions of context and coincidence that one could tentatively call contrived. I assure you, though. She's not being held captive or anything of that sort. We have made an agreement, which ties into the reason I requested to speak to you in the first place." _

Request? More like command, even though it had been worded as a request. The first L had been the same way; no matter how politely he asked it, no was never an acceptable answer unless it came from him. Such was the attitude of spoiled brats, egoists and psychopaths.

Come to think of it, Light was sort of that way himself. He just hid it better. Perhaps one of the worst things about this observation was that Aizawa made it based on hindsight; that alone rendered it utterly useless, at least as far as Light was concerned.

"Well, what is it that you want?" he asked, finding this stranger undeserving of politeness when nothing he had done had warranted it.

"_Tell me, Mr. Aizawa, that you've noticed the steady increase of stories circulating over the news and Internet about criminals dying again." _

The men exchanged apprehensive glances. How could they not? "Lately we _have_ noticed signs of widespread suspicious activity, not unlike what we saw on the first Kira case," he answered. "We think there's at least one person somewhere in the world using…Kira's power, maybe more."

_We hope that there's only one person, but when was it ever enough to hope, then or now? _

"_A smooth deduction, Mr. Aizawa. Next question, who has Kira's power and where are they?" _

Aizawa's teeth gnashed in tightly restrained fury. He'd often thought that L was to put it mildly insufferable, but this guy…

"We're still looking into that. Given how more under the radar this new killer is compared to the first Kira, we believe that he has considerably more savvy; he probably watched the first Kira and is trying to avoid his mistakes. If that's the case, we don't think using a public broadcast like the one the first L used will help to lure him out."

"_I don't count on this new killer to fall for the same tricks Kira did, either. I made that broadcast to at the very least call attention to his activity." _

"By telling everyone in America that there was no killing and that you weren't going to help?" scoffed Ide.

"_Now gentlemen, I'm sure you know as well as I do that Kira's killing method mustn't be disclosed to the public, if we can help it. If our unsub has been so careful about carrying out these new judgments—or at least he _thinks_ that he's been careful—the fact that there is someone, or a group of people out there who have even the slightest inkling about what he's doing could put pressure on him." _

"And you think he'll do something to give himself away then?"

"_I hesitate to say that he would immediately do something to screw himself up. Instead, he'll attempt to cover his tracks, such as pass his power on to someone else. Someone who could and would easily take the fall for him."_

That didn't sound that different from what Light and Misa had done on the first case with Higuchi and the Yotsuba Group. Then again, it had fooled them for the longest time…

Why couldn't Aizawa shake the feeling that this L already knew someone who would use the notebook in the way that the unsub had? On the other hand, L didn't even make Light's acquaintance until later on in the investigation and he'd managed to zoom in on him fairly quickly.

"Well, we've been building a profile on the unsub on our end. Based on the information we've gathered so far from the media, we've created a time-table on the criminal deaths—"

"_Mr. Aizawa, surely you realize how pointless that is? Kira can control the time and conditions of his victims' deaths." _

"Every criminal has some kind of M.O. Some are better at hiding it than others, but they all still have some kind of pattern in their activity."

"_Even if you could find a pattern, it's completely possible that he created that pattern just to throw you off. Let me guess, does the time-table fit a schedule that a high school or college student would have? _

"_Come to think of it, Mr. Yagami has a surviving daughter that's going to college. It would only be natural for her to want to follow in her big brother's footsteps, wouldn't it?" _

_You son of a bitch. You…you _fuck.

Thank goodness Soichiro wasn't here to hear this. Aizawa could only imagine how badly _he_ might have flown off the handle if this comment could piss him off this much as a friend of the family. Not to mention that if he knew this much about the Yagami family, then he really must have had some kind of affiliation with L that would grant him access to such information about them and the case.

"L, do you really want our help or did you drag us here just to insult us?" he demanded.

Suddenly the feed became fuzzy, and then there was drop-dead silence though L's insignia remained on the screen. "L? L, are you there?" asked Ide. "Hello? He's not answering…"

"His screen is still up. We can't leave until he finishes talking to us," Aizawa muttered. "He must have momentarily turned off his voice connection. Or…"

…

Erin situated herself between him and his computer, her hand over the microphone. "Hey kid, I'm not gonna put up with you talking to my friends like that," she said sternly. "You have no idea what they and their families have gone through."

Unfazed, Near rubbed a lock of his pale hair between his two fingers. "Oh, don't I?"

"Well, you wouldn't be treating them like this if you did."

"Whatever they 'went through' in the past is irrelevant, Ms. Blogger. Such is the case for everyone. What matters is the here and now."

"What kind of PS are you spouting? I thought you were a genius. The past helps to shape everyone into who they are today. You oughta know that."

"The only thing anyone should take from the past is their mistakes, so that when they make mistakes in the future, at least they won't be the exact same as from the past. The same mistakes over and over get boring to watch before very long."

Erin threw an exasperated hand into the air before slapping it back against her side. "Jesus Christ, were manners not in the curriculum over at Wammy's House or did you flunk out of that class? I thought you were going to ask them for your help? You're not gonna get their cooperation this way, that's for damn sure. And if you think they're that stupid, why are you even bothering to talk to them at all?"

"Etiquette was an elective and I was exempted from taking it. When I'm given a reason to respect someone, then I'll respect them. Just because the Japanese task force are relatively clueless doesn't mean that they aren't still useful. If you'd let me finish—"

Anger sizzled through her like a long lit fuse about to trigger a bundle of dynamite. Not even L was this vicious, or at least he didn't make it so painfully apparent. That last comment about Mr. Yagami daughter Sayu was simply uncalled for, spoken completely out of spite. Right then, whatever self-restraint she had cultivated slipped from her fingers. "C'mere, I'm about to give you a crash course on manners!"

As physically weak as Near appeared to be, she easily managed to wrestle him into a headlock so she could give him a noogie, vigorously scrubbing her knuckles against his scalp like scrubbing a stubborn food stain off of a china plate. That is until Roger hastily bounded over to pull the two apart, this scenario all too familiar to him from his days as caretaker of the House.

Near reached up to nurse the top of his head. The only evidence of distress he gave besides that was a few more blinks than usual. "She touched me inappropriately," he deadpanned.

"Oh, hush! All I did was gave you a noogie. Roger you saw that, didn't ya?"

"You put my face up to your breasts, Ms. Blogger. What else am I to make of that? I don't see how that's supposed to teach me good manners. Besides, shouldn't you be doing things like that to Gevanni?" Taking a lock of hair into his fingers, he nodded towards the exit. "Please show her the door, Watari. I have no more use for her at this moment."

Not of the opinion that a lady should do something so undignified anyway, Roger started to guide Erin out the door. Despite the momentary shock from that last comment, she recovered quick enough to put up her arms to block the doorway. "W-wait, I wanna say something to Aizawa."

"What would that be?" Roger grumbled.

"Don't worry, I won't be longer than a minute. I just need to clear the air."

She scrambled back around a frustrated Roger and towards the small computer sitting on the floor. Before Near could get to it, she turned the microphone back on.

"Yo, Aizawa? This is Erin, again. You still there?"

"_Yes."_

"Listen. Don't take what he just said too personally. He's a sh—he's a stinky diaper to everyone. Hold on, I'll put him back on the line…"

She thought she heard a faint, choked-back chuckle from the other end before stepping over Near, probably Ide taken by surprise by her remark. Aizawa wasn't generally the type to chuckle at stupid comments, especially these days.

…

While Ide tried to recover from having accidentally forced coffee down his windpipe, Aizawa took over. In some ways it seemed that Erin hadn't changed in the least. Still unafraid to be childish and belligerent with people of authority. But then, weren't most Americans like that?

"_Pardon that interruption,"_ said "L" as though there hadn't been one, or even that he had been so rude to them just moments ago. _"As I was saying, while I understand that you would think building a profile of the killer or killers would be helpful, what you really should be doing in the meantime is keeping your eye on the news. The first Kira used the media to his advantage and it wouldn't be too far of a stretch that this new killer would as well. In particular I want you to keep an eye on the reporters. Who they are, who they work for, and their type of coverage." _

"On reporters? Just the ones here in Japan? Why?"

"_I'm afraid we're running out of time. I only intended to speak to you for a few minutes; you can thank Ms. Blogger for cutting into most of it. Besides, I'm sure you can figure out the rest for yourselves. I will contact you again as needed, most likely in the same way as before." _

The two had no choice but to concede, finding it pointless to argue with this new detective as distrustful as they still found him. Although before the connection was cut again, Aizawa had to ask: "Hold on. What sort of 'agreement' did you arrange with Blogger, if I'm allowed to ask?"

"_Don't worry. She won't be doing anything terribly dangerous as long as she holds up her end of the deal and does as I say. Blogger is conducting some surveillance for me." _

"Surveillance? On who?" He didn't like the sound of that at all, and from on Ide's face neither did he. What business would someone like Blogger have to watch anyone that extensively?

"_Who do you think? Surely you wouldn't have forgotten after all this time." _

Those were "L's" last curt, dispassionate words before the screen blinked back to its normal desktop image.

The first thought to come to Aizawa's head after this abrupt parting of ways was, _Asshole. Somehow he's worse than the first L. _

His second: _Wait a minute. _

"He must be talking about Misa Amane," he muttered.

"Amane?"

"It can't be anyone else. With Amane in America right now working on her new film…it'd make sense that he'd want to keep an eye on her."

"Except when it doesn't. You don't really think Amane would be at it again, do you? And either way, is getting Blogger involved the smartest thing to do?"

Aizawa groaned. Given the girl's past they couldn't entirely rule out the idea, but at the same time it didn't sound likely. This new killer's M.O. didn't match Misa's style when she was still the Second Kira. Misa tended to go after people who so much as spoke out against Kira. These days she had become one of the brave masses who did the speaking out, having lost all of her memories and turning against Kira's ideology after Light's death.

But what if this was wishful thinking on his part as he didn't want to think that Misa would fall back into her old ways? Looks could and did deceive. It would be foolish of them to forget that after all they'd witnessed. But then, would Misa go that far in covering her tracks if she truly had any involvement in these new murders? Blogger could be in grave danger, whether Misa was guilty or not.

Anyway, what could they do about it now? "L" and the girls were over in America and they were here; from what he had said, they might have to stay here for a bit longer.

_Was he trying to tell us that our unsub is or is involved with someone who works in the media here in Japan? _

"So what now?" grumbled Ide. The two stood up and stretched the ache from their joints, neither of them as flexible as they used to be.

After a moment of hesitation, he exhaled. Brunch with the family would have to be moved back, again. This, here and now, was far too serious to put aside for another time. "We're going to have to call Matsuda and Mogi in for an emergency meeting. Let's see what they can make of this. Besides he didn't say we couldn't do that."

…

"Whoa! Sh-she did _what?_ Get out!"

"_I admit I've made crap up in the past because I thought it'd be funny to see how you'd react, but…I wouldn't make something like this up. I wish I was." _

Erin didn't like the pause over the line, but she was so taken aback by this news she had found herself at a temporary loss as to how to break the silence. Farley broke it first with a pained chuckle.

"_You know, I'm actually kinda glad I found out when I did. I finally got the guts to pop the question to her; I was just about to do it when this whole shitstorm blew in." _ This was Farley for you, cracking lame jokes in the face of adversity, even betrayal.

"Oh my God. I—I'm so sorry, Farley."

"_What are you apologizing for? You didn't do anything." _

"Aw Farley, not even you deserve that. Man, I oughta call her up myself and give her a piece of my mind! How dare she go and—"

"_N-no, no don't. It's not your problem. I don't need this to escalate any more than it already has. Besides it wouldn't look good on me if it got out that I cried to my baby sister about how—uh, you know what? This conversation never happened. I'll chat you up later." _

_Click. _

Even when she heard him hang up Erin called out his name into the phone against her better judgment, for some reason expecting him to pick up again. When the dial tone started beeping she hung up in turn, pinching the place between her eyes and shaking her head. As she slipped the cell phone into her pocket she could see her brother hammering a hole in the wall with his head as he tried to remember what he could have possibly said or done—or _didn't _say or do—that would drive Penny into the arms of another man, never mind humiliate him like that. Personally Erin couldn't see it. Farley had been joking, and only to her, when he'd talked about having kids in the future and he was a total puppy-dog when it came to Penny. Unless _that _was Penny's reason for doing it…

Either that, or Penny had started to get cold feet about things between them becoming more serious. Whatever her issues had been, she sure picked a horrible way to address them.

"Is everything okay, Erin?"

She turned to find Misa standing behind her dressed for another successful day of filming.

"Oh, it's my brother. He just found out that his girl's been messing around behind his back. And just when he was gonna propose to her, too…"

Misa clapped her fingers over her lips, gasping in shock. "Oh no! That's _terrible! _Is he gonna be okay?"

"I dunno. He didn't sound okay when I talked to him. He and Penny have been together for almost two years now. I wonder why she would do something like this now…"

"Hm. Well, maybe there _is _a bright side to this," said Misa as she ran her fingers through her blond locks that still glistened from the shower she'd just taken. "As least he found out she was a slut before he got too entangled with her."

"Misa!"

"What? Don't tell me you're not thinking the same thing."

"Well, I've certainly lost a lot of respect for her but I—at the same time, I don't like using that word."

Misa put her hand on her hip. "Oh, really? You'll use other four-letter words and call people other names but you won't say 'slut?'"

Erin scratched at the back of her neck. "There's just something about that word that never sat well with me. I mean, if you wanna sleep with anyone and everyone that's willing and able that's your prerogative. But don't promise to be faithful to somebody and then be everything but. I think that's a lot worse than just sleeping around."

Misa was quiet for a moment, somewhat unusual for someone as chatty as she was. She always was sensitive about relationship stuff. Or was it something else? Erin didn't want to ask too many questions or ask in the wrong way lest she arouse her suspicions. For these past few days neither Erin nor Steve had seen anything strange; if Steve had noticed anything that she hadn't he would have shared it with her. Then again, he couldn't be around Misa nearly as much as she could. As far as Misa was concerned, he was just a "maybe" new flame of Erin's.

Her fists clenched when her frustrations toward Penny crawled back into the forefront of her mind. "He told me to stay out of it but God, it's hard not to want to get involved. This is my brother who just got his heart broken."

"I know how you feel. But maybe he's right? What can you say to this girl that probably hasn't been said already? You do sometimes say stuff when you get mad that makes the problem worse. I think the best thing you can do is just be there for him. He'll find someone better eventually when he stops hurting."

Erin sniffed. "Yeah. Maybe you're right," she conceded, recalling the incident with Near not too long ago. He hadn't allowed her back into the room with him since then. Not that he was pleasant company to begin with, but it did make things unnecessarily tense and put her out in the dark. On top of that, a stipulation had been put on her that she could no longer contact her friends from the NPA independently until this case was closed, and Erin couldn't be sure of even that much. How could she be sure that Near would treat them right if she wasn't there?

No matter how she looked at it, a peace offering seemed to be in order. She would work that out later before her next appointment with the task force. Until then, she could leave a message for Farley, let him know that she would be around when he felt ready to talk.

Still, she never saw someone have such an extreme (if delayed) reaction to a simple noogie. Had he never gotten one before? Or had he gotten too many in his short lifetime for him to bear? She could only imagine how the other kids treated him when he still lived at Wammy's—even kids could be unforgiving of those that were different—and in spite of her dislike of him a lump of sympathy started to clog her throat at the thought.

She didn't want to admit that he was right about her being a teddy bear, but nothing she said or did exactly contradicted his accusation, either. She did like to think of herself as a decent enough person, but not a complete teddy bear. It made her sound like everyone's fool, everyone's plaything, just by virtue of being nice to them.

Misa reached over to bat at one of her earrings with her pinkie. "You sure do like these, don't you? You've been wearing them every day, practically."

Swallowing down the lump at least partly out of anxiety Erin said, "Sure, why not?"

"Personally they look kinda tacky on you."

"Well I like them."

Misa smirked. "Do you wear them 'cause Steve likes them, too?"

She glanced down at her feet as her face flushed. "W-well, he hasn't said that he _doesn't._"

A look flickered across Misa's soft face as though she were about to say something vaguely catty, but for whatever reason decided against it as she said instead, "Well, when we both get time, we're going shopping for more earrings. You should at least mix things up."

Erin smiled. "Whatever you say, Miss Fashionista."

Misa beckoned her with a wave of her hand. "Until then, let's get going! Don't wanna be late!"

"Okay, hang on, I'll catch up."

As the two started for the door Erin dialed Farley's number again. He didn't answer. So she left him a message:

"Farley? Hey, it's Erin. You hung up on me kind of abruptly. I get if you don't wanna talk right now but…when you're ready, I just want you to know that I'm here. You know where to reach me. Love ya, big bro."

…

It hadn't slipped by Misa that Erin had been spending more time with Stephen since the party, when she wasn't working on an article or spending time with her. Today she was going to accompany her to the set to get some material for an article she'd offered to write about her, "Y'know, to get your name out there."

Years ago Erin had gone to college with the hope that one day she would become one of those hard-hitting journalists who exposed lies and conspiracies to a public that had every right to know about them. Now here she was writing about local news, celebrities and animals in need of adoption. No gossip, though; that hadn't changed in the slightest.

Misa could only imagine that her experience on the Kira case had scared her into the opposite direction. In a way she couldn't really blame her. What could be worse than being thrust into the middle of one of the greatest most dangerous stories the world may ever hear, and then coming out of it unable to even tell it to anyone?

That case had changed her, too.

She would never admit it, but sometimes for the shortest of moments she found herself jealous of Erin and Steve. Not because she wanted Steve to herself, oh no, handsome as he was she was telling the truth about him not being her type. She was jealous of the relationship as a whole, the fact that they'd hit it off so quickly and seemed happy together.

And so she would have expected. After all, Misa had been the one to, literally, push them together so that they could build that attraction in the first place. As foolish as she knew it was to get jealous, she couldn't help herself. She never could help herself, could she?

Misa sat down in front of the mirror with a rare strain of gratitude about the lack of necessity for conversation and closed her eyes as Leslie broke out the make-up kit. Hearing Erin talk about her brother's relationship troubles had made her think about Light. No one would have known it to look at them but even without the whole Kira mess theirs hadn't been as wonderful of a relationship as it'd seemed. When they had just started dating Light had seen other girls. He insisted that he'd had to. They couldn't appear to be that close to each other, he'd said. It was for her reputation's sake and his. She didn't think that he became too…_intimate_ with those other girls, the way that he would never be with her—or at least she hadn't wanted to think so.

Of course that changed when they both got pulled into the case; after that Light was lucky to find time to go out at all, never mind meet other girls. Whatever girls who might've been interested in him besides were repelled by Ryuzaki's maddening presence. He had literally chained himself to Light's side because he couldn't let go of his suspicions about him.

Then Light's attention turned to Ryuzaki. They argued together, conversed together, worked together, _slept_ together, probably _showered _together. Not that they had the kind of feelings for each other that Misa had for Light, she would have noticed if that were the case, but in private the arrangement drove her insane. The first person she felt any sort of connection to in the longest time, the first to give her consistent attention however slight, and here he was being stolen away by someone who, as much as she hated to admit it, understood him almost as well as she did. Maybe even more.

That was why she had been so pushy about putting Ryuzaki with Erin. To divert his attention so that she could take back what she believed was hers. Never mind if the two didn't get along or that Ryuzaki would end up hurting her somehow. Looking back Misa couldn't remember dwelling on that for very long. She was selfish then.

_And I'm just as selfish now. _

She used to be in denial about it, but after getting time to think about things she'd decided it better to embrace her nature, not fight it. She didn't know anymore if fairy-tale endings with the ones that you loved were still possible outside of books and movies, if they ever were. All she knew was that she'd given up her right to one a long time ago.

Leslie pulled away to give Misa a chance to check herself out in her reflection. "Viola! Looking fab, if I do say so myself!"

Misa twirled her chair around and made an array of her best faces: cute, funny, serious, enticing, the entire array. None of these necessarily reflected her feelings at the moment, but she had always been billed as an excellent actress. If she concentrated enough, she would adopt the mindset to go with the face. An actress could be anything she wanted. Or what anyone else wanted. Sometimes she could be different people to audiences at the same time.

When she was satisfied, she tossed her hair and gave two thumbs-up. "All right, let's do it!"

…

Erin's hand drew away before her fingers brushed the handle. _I don't know if I can do this. _

_But you have to. Come on, the longer you stand there debating over it the greater chance you have of getting caught. _Her hand inched back over…only to dart away again. She wiped the sweat dotting her brow with her wrist.

_But it's not right to look into people's phones—_

_Oh fuck, Erin, make up your mind! You're just gonna look at her texts and voicemail. That's it. She will never know about it and then you can at least say that you've been thorough. _

She took her deepest breath until her chest felt like bursting, and then exhaled slowly, her lips puckering as though she were blowing out a candle. Clutching the handkerchief, she turned the knob on the lock according to the combination Steve had given her during one of his own escapades on surveying Misa. She hadn't been happy about hearing this, but all Steve had to reply with was, "I did what I had to. I never found anything, but it couldn't hurt to check again. Since you'd be coming with Misa, it would look a lot less suspicious if you did it."

12-25-24. Right-right-right. Left-left. Right.

_Click. _

Her heart drummed so violently that her sheer pulse seemed to make her hands tremble. Peeling the cold steel door of the locker by the top with her finger, she found Misa's leather purse sitting inside. Misa had several cell phones, each with a different purpose. Erin thought to start with her "personal" phone, the dark blood-red one with the keychain attached to it that looked like a voodoo doll version of herself. She took another breath and flipped it open, taking care to place the handkerchief between it and her clammy hand.

Upon going into the voicemail, an automated voice asked her for a passcode. _Damn._ But this all by itself didn't incriminate Misa; most people had passwords on their phone, didn't they? Her body tightened bit by bit as she strained to come up with what numbers Misa would use for her code.

First she entered 1-2-2-5, the month and day of Misa's birthday, December 25th.

"_Sorry, that is not your passcode. Please enter your passcode and press 'pound.'"_

Her tongue poked out from between her lips as she tried again using Kimiko's birthday this time, September 25th: 0-9-2-5.

"_Sorry, that is not your passcode. Please enter your passcode and press 'pound.'"_

_Come on, think! What other combination might she use? _

…

Well, there was one more. But for some reason Erin kind of hoped that it wouldn't be it. Though what choice did she have except to try it?

0-2-2-8.

February 28th. Light's birthday.

To her discomfort, it must have been the right one. Because then the robotic voice announced, _"You have no new messages. Main menu…"_

Following the prompts, she found there were no saved messages either. Erin didn't know whether to worry or be relieved over this. She backed out of voicemail and returned to the phone's main menu to find text messages.

The shock of what she found _there_ slackened her jaw, leaving her mouth open to the dust mites dancing in the sunlight pouring down from the one window above her.

…

Matt was just outside the locker room with another cigarette dangling from his lips. He had enough time to enjoy that warm, soothing first puff before a girl in a Fedora burst out pale and shaking like she'd just seen something terrifying. Perhaps something that someone had left in the crapper and forgot to flush?

"What's the matter?" he asked her coolly.

She tugged at her shirt collar like it had gotten too hot underneath it. "Uh, nothing. I wouldn't go in there for at least fifteen minutes, just a heads-up."

"I didn't realize that I looked like a lady from where you were standing," he said. "I wouldn't have a reason to be in there anyway unless I was."

"Ah, sorry, I didn't mean it that way, I just—oh, never mind!" She made a mad dash back for her seat to watch Misa and her costar Dick do their next scene.

Matt hung his head and took another drag, already getting an idea as to what she might have seen that freaked her out this badly.

…

"_Hey Mello. When did we start getting interested in killing criminals outside of the mafia?" _

"_We haven't." _

"_The news and Internet say otherwise." _

_After what couldn't have been more than two minutes of scanning the results of Matt's search on the engine Mello flashed a sneer, taking another chunk of chocolate off the top of his bar with his teeth. "Well, well. Looks like there's some idiot out there who somehow got a notebook of his own. From the looks of it he seems to be trying to pick up where Kira left off. Isn't that right, Lumen?" _

_The shinigami's gaping jaws were just as occupied, but with the last fistful of consomme chips from the bag. "Gotter ber," he mumbled between spit-firing bites. He swallowed loudly. "A shinigami from my world probably dropped his notebook here on accident," he said with no trace of sympathy in his voice for his fellow god of death. He wiped the crumbs off of his skeletal face with the sleeve of his coat and let the aluminum bag flutter uselessly to the floor. _

_It didn't take either of them to realize that they'd have to track this guy down. "He could be useful to us," said Mello from over Matt's shoulder. "But we won't know until we find and get a hold of him. Lumen, how can you tell if a person is an owner of a Death Note? Would _you _be able to tell if you saw him?" Matt didn't answer him. He was just about to lean his head back into his chest when Mello pulled away to face their otherworldly accomplice. _

_Lumen snickered. "Sorry, I couldn't tell you if I wanted to. Shinigami aren't allowed to point out other Death Note owners any more than we're allowed to give you anyone's real name. Besides, if you're as smart as I've been led to believe I think it'd be much more fun to see you figure it out for yourself." _

_Mello huffed. He should have expected Lumen to say that. All of the consomme chips in the world couldn't make Lumen be at his _complete_ beck and call. So now what? Making the Shinigami Eye trade was out of the question and he couldn't get someone else to do it without giving up ownership of the Death Note and transferring it to them. _

_Yes. Yet another thing to consider. They couldn't yet tell if this person had the Eyes. If he did he certainly would be useful to Mello if he could get him on his side, but at the same time if he ever saw his face and found a reason to kill him…_

So history repeats itself.

_He'd just have to track this person down the old-fashioned way. It wasn't as though he hadn't been taught to do so. _

…

"What're we taking this way for?" whined Lumen. "The usual route is quicker!" He was of course talking about their route to meet their men with the next delivery of chips. Otherwise he couldn't have cared less.

"We'll get there, don't you worry," said Mello from the seat next to him. "I felt nostalgic and wanted to take the scenic route. Besides, shinigami can't starve so I think you can stand to wait."

Lumen cocked his head. "Nostalgic?"

"Yeah. This is a piece of history we're visiting. Well, my history, at least," he said with his gloved hand under his chin. He wouldn't expect the spirit to understand what that word meant. Indeed, most people wouldn't know it to look at the city, but they were driving through an old battlefield.

To Lumen's chagrin he didn't explain himself any further nor would he look his way. He started to hum and huff and make all sorts of obnoxious noises to get his attention. He certainly got that of the driver, who made his irritation quite apparent in his reflection in the rearview mirror as he tried to keep his eyes on the road. Eddie cursed under his breath for writing in the notebook himself, if only because if he hadn't he wouldn't be able to see or hear this asshole at all.

They passed the apartment on 3rd Avenue, where Quarter Queen was bludgeoned to death and her eyes crushed in. From what he knew, the girl's mother never returned there since then. Not that her fate was or had ever been his concern.

His elbow propped against the door, he peered out the dark tinted windows to see that now vacant little house on Insist Street, where Believe Bridesmaid was strangled and carved up. Before long the Metrorail Glass Station came into view, along with it the townhouse where Backyard Bottomslash had had the most gruesome death of the three: strangled, stabbed, beaten and then dismembered, and probably not in that order. If he closed his eyes he could see all of these murders unfold beyond his eyelids. Not that he was there for any of it; what he knew of the LABB affair L had told him himself and he had done extra research based on the news. But for him it wasn't difficult to imagine. Most people might be deeply troubled by the deaths of three innocent and unrelated people, but to Mello they had simply been unfortunate casualties in the war Beyond Birthday had declared upon L.

The condo in Pasadena rolled by then, now renovated. He imagined Naomi Misora rushing down the pathway on level 4 to room 404 just as Beyond was setting himself on fire, his final anguished battle-cry piercing the night and haunting the street for at least a year afterwards.

In hindsight, it was rather telling that B had to kill people just to get L's attention. The man had been constantly plagued by the fact that death was inevitable and that most of humankind's endeavors would prove futile in the grand scheme of things, and he'd still gone for it anyway. If B could take any comfort from his failure before he died in prison, it would've been that this applied to L, too. His fall just hadn't been as soon as he had wanted.

Attention. Attention. Attent—

A blazing streak of realization rattled his mind, burning his skull from the inside-out.

_Yes. That's it. This other killer isn't as obvious about it, or so they like to think, but they crave attention too, on a global scale. As a god, like Kira himself. Hm. Or even better, they want to _surpass _Kira. And like Kira they can't stand people who contend with their points of view. _

_But they are currently modeling themselves so closely from Kira's M.O.…they must be a Kira admirer. Maybe someone who comes from a prominent family or has an occupation that puts them in public view often. Like a reporter. The killings may be spread out, but it wouldn't hurt to look back to the country of Kira's origin first. We need to watch for who is reporting on the deaths and how. _

_And who else dies around them. _

He never saw Lumen leap so high or soar so quickly across the lot as soon as the car came to a stop and everyone got out. He watched the shinigami crash down on the mooks carrying the crates out of the truck with little interest. His mind had gone elsewhere, by then.


End file.
